


Down the Line

by blackberry_peachx



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Tutor, Barista Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Keith (Voltron), Comfort, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Hunk is Smart AF, Illness, Keith’s Inner Monologue of Hunk’s Arms, Liberties Taken on Science, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Mostly Positive, POV Keith (Voltron), Past Unrequited Sheith, Pining Hunk (Voltron), Pining Keith (Voltron), Rating May Change, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Texting, Trans Keith (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Trans Shiro (Voltron), Unreliable Narrator, and they were ROOMMATES, because i know nothing about their majors, but that's not the whole story, kissing is so good
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:15:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackberry_peachx/pseuds/blackberry_peachx
Summary: “Are you the tutor? I mean. I assume. Are you Hunk?” he spews, tapping his fingers to his organic chemistry textbook.Hunk grins, and damn. Damn. The dark rimmed retro glasses he’s wearing do nothing to diminish the way his eyes crinkle on the edges or how bright his smile is. Keith’s eyes track down to his plain tie, his shirt… are there cats on the collar? He’s wearing a sage green sweater over it, and honestly he looks like a library nerd. A math nerd. A complete dork. But, shit, if he wasn’t cute.“Yeah, I’m Hunk. Part-time tutor,” he smiles at him, extending a hand across the desk.—Or, Keith needs a tutor, and Hunk happens to be the only one available to help him out. He doesn’t get a crush on him. Except he does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh... a good old fashioned tutor au. Originally I was writing it to get to the smutty parts, but then the story grew a slow burn and feelings and Thoughts and style and—it got away from me. But I’m happy to let it run wild and free :>
> 
> I’m still in the process of writing this, but I except it to run 10-12 chapters, and so far they seem to vary in word length. I’m just kinda winging it, and it’s nice. Uhh, I’ll try and update weekly? Bi-weekly? Not sure, but this will have an ending :’) 
> 
> I owe a lot to my good friend n fellow heith shipper and rp buddy @blurrilines on tumblr. She’s been an excellent springboard to bounce ideas around and she’s always rooting for me :’) love u dude. 
> 
> I listened to the Essential Indie playlist on Spotify like crazy. Really sets the vibe btw. Otherwise, this is unbeta’d and all done by me.

_Well_ , Keith thinks, _this is it. Wasted_. Explosions, a black and white montage of Keith laying dead on the floor of Dos Santos Hall with a massive glaring ‘F’ over his body. No credit received for all of the twelve hundred dollars he spent on the class. 

He steps out of the lecture hall doors with heavy footsteps after the exam, a few students lagging behind him as well but it’s still the in-between time of classes so the halls are barren. He sighs heavily, grimacing as he replays Shiro’s advice over and over in his head, _there’s always tutors in the basement of the library, Keith. They want to help you. Seriously. They’re all bored, anyway_. Shiro would know, he practically raised them from hatchlings. Grad student nerd. 

Instead of going to the library like he knows he damn well should, he goes to the student center to eat lunch. He glares at his organic chemistry notebook as he munches on french fries, wondering where in ever-loving hell his professor wrangled up those questions on the exam. Keith would have bet his five dollar pocket change that he had that shit on lockdown. Apparently not. _Wasted_. 

He puts his earbuds in as he sits on a free bench outside among the dozen empty ones, the season not quite welcoming to hanging around, winter’s melting chill making his fingers a little cold. He flips through his notebook until the notations and words and numbers blend together on the pages, trying to find where he had gone wrong. Eventually he shoves it in his backpack and directs his narrowed gaze to the library across the campus green, now covered in melting snow and brown grass. _They’re bored, Keith, they don’t care that you don’t know o-chem after taking it once before. Shiro, I know o-chem, o-chem doesn’t know me. Sure, Keith_. 

Fucking o-chem. 

His next class isn’t until five so he has about three hours to waste and nothing else to work on, his campus housing apartment a twenty minute walk. What would a tutor hurt, anyway? Clearly Keith is losing his ability to understand a damn thing, another opinion might help. As long as it’s not Lance, who just loves to rub in his face that he passed o-chem with a B-, honestly legendary for the course. Besides, if he fails it one more time there’s always the empty lot down the street to bury himself in. He’s got options. 

He strides through the revolving doors to the library, past the metal detectors toward the basement staircase where he’s only ventured twice, once for a class and once when a boy wanted to show him a book in freshman year that J. R. R. Tolkein apparently owned (that was a lie). There were quiet working spaces off to the side, small glassed-in rooms for study groups along the wall, more bookshelves, computer labs, and toward the back was the academic help center. He feels himself bristling even before he’s spoken to anyone. He doesn’t like how it’s uncomfortably warm down here, either, and mingled with the littlest bit of embarrassment he’s already feeling? Ugh. 

He walks as quietly as he can toward the back, boots making his steps hollow on the carpet, and at the desk sits a blue-shirted student employee with their feet propped up on the edge. Reading a _textbook_. Clearly bored. 

He walks up within a foot of the desk and it takes a full thirty seconds for the student to notice him, blinking blearily up at him like he was literally sleeping with his eyes open. “Hey, man,” the blue-shirted student says, flipping another page, yawning wide. “What can I do ya for?” 

God. 

“Uh,” Keith clears his throat, shoving his balled up fists tighter into his jean jacket. “Tutor?”

“Yeah.” 

College. Reducing adults to one-word replies. 

“Can I get one? Maybe?” Why does he sound so unsure? Of course he’s here for a tutor. The sleepiness of the blue-shirted student is throwing him off. He’s getting tired too, like he stepped through a thin veil. Starting to lose his grip a little. Pidge’s latest fad is talking about alternate realities and Keith hasn’t quite shaken it from his mindspace yet, and it’s niggling at his brain now. 

“Yeah, absofruitly, my man,” the student drags his feet off the desk and slams the textbook closed, the noise jarring in the buzzing stillness of the basement. It takes Keith a second to realize he actually said ‘absofruitly’ and also ‘man’. That’s cool. Cool wordage. 

“What class? If it’s for Lundstrom’s calculus class you’re shit out of luck,” he says but in a way that isn’t offensive. Not like Keith cares because he’s already passed calc like two semesters ago. 

“No,” he says and shakes his head, adjusting his stance subconsciously, voice going low. “Uh, it’s for Iverson’s organic chemistry? Can… is there anyone to, uh… help with that…” 

Blue-shirted student is staring at him, slowly raising his brows as he talks and it’s unnerving. He’s never been a fan of people staring at him like he’s a book to figure out. Then blue-shirted student whistles in a diminuendo, shaking his head in awed pity and Keith’s stomach falls into his ass. 

“Damn. O-chem? I am so, so sorry, dude,” the student says, picking up a pen and clicking it. Keith groans internally and puts his mouth in a flat line. He turns to book it out of here but then blue-shirt interrupts him by pulling a keyboard toward him, the chair making awful squeaking noises as he rolls closer to the desk.

“But, I think I have a guy for you,” blue-shirt says conspiratorially, and something about everything makes Keith thinks he’s giving him an in to the Men in Black. Fuck, he needs to get out of here. 

But, he’s rooted to the spot when the student clacks away on the keyboard and narrows his gaze to the computer screen in front of him, humming to himself and scrolling on the mousepad. Keith might laugh if he wasn’t afraid of waking up goblins or lost students in the stacks nearby. Honestly if college had taught him anything, it’s that weird shit happens on the daily. He would not be surprised. 

It takes a second for blue-shirt to pull something up, grinning wide and proudly.

“Well, damn, son, you’re actually in luck. We have a tutor who’s majoring in environmental chemistry and geology. He knows his shit,” he says, slapping a hand to the desktop before springing up like he was a taut rubber band this whole time. “Lemme see if he’s here, he tends to, uh… hang out…” 

Okay, then. 

Keith blinks after him as he disappears toward the offices behind him, letting out a breath he didn’t know he had caged up. A few moments later he comes back in his blue shirt glory and gives him a thumbs up. Keith furrows his brows but blue-shirt is undeterred. 

“If you want, you can just head upstairs. Find a spot if you can. Hunk’s busy with something, he’ll be up in a hot minute,” he says, nodding slowly like he might pass out with his eyes open like he did before. Keith might actually laugh. 

But, first. “Hunk?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Is that... is that his name?” Keith’s lips quirk up into a smile. Is this actually his real life, right now? 

“Yeah, man. Hunk. Can’t miss him.” 

Okay. 

Keith nods and turns on his heel, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Oh, wait! Take this,” blue-shirt leans over the desk and hands him a framed picture of the Dos Equis guy, complete with meme. _I don’t always drive the speed limit, but when I do, it’s because the asshole behind me is tailgating_. What the fuck. Keith’s almost entirely convinced he got handed a quest item. 

He goes to the second level and heads toward the far back corner where it’s quietest in his opinion, but then it occurs to him that Hunk (?) might not be able to find him. He supposes that’s what the framed meme is for, but the library is huge. And Keith likes to hole himself in corners. He grumbles and finds a free table that’s more out in the open, between endless rows of stacks where the smell of old books and burning electronics permeates the air. He sits down and pulls out his notebook and textbook and lab manual, trying valiantly to ignore his racing heartbeat as he scrolls through Spotify for a playlist. 

Ten minutes pass and Keith’s ready to hop out of his seat and call it quits before a figure walks around the corner of his 4 person table, pulling out a chair opposite of him. He pulls out an earbud to ask what they thought they were doing before a brown hand pulls the framed meme on the desk closer. 

“I love this one, honestly,” the figure chuckles, and Keith glances up. 

Oh. Oh, wow. The earbud falls from Keith’s fingers into his lap as his mouth drops and his heart shoots straight up into his throat.

The guy sitting across from him is definitely, without a doubt, an imposing figure. A hunk. Literally. Except he’s the opposite of scary. Broad and soft but with a kindly bespectacled face. 

“Are you the one needing an o-chem tutor? Rolo downstairs said someone came in looking for one,” the guy who Keith assumes is Hunk says, and his voice is deep and friendly to match the rest of him, big fingers tracing the frame of the meme absently as they regard each other. 

“Uh.”

Nice, Keith. 

He swallows thickly and pulls out the other earbud, sitting up straight in his chair. “Yeah, that’s me. O-chem. Tutor. Is that you?” 

Hunk flicks his eyes down to the meme, and oh, fuck, that’s not what he meant. “The--” Hunk starts before Keith cuts him off. 

“Are you the tutor? I mean. I assume. Are you Hunk?” he spews, tapping his fingers to his organic chemistry textbook, his face probably hotter than fucking Venus at this point. Idiot. 

Hunk grins, and damn. Damn. The dark rimmed retro glasses he’s wearing do nothing to diminish the way his eyes crinkle on the edges or how bright his smile is. Keith’s eyes track down to his plain tie, his shirt… are there cats on the collar? He’s wearing a sage green sweater over it, and honestly he looks like a library nerd. A math nerd. A complete dork. But, shit, if he wasn’t cute. 

“Yeah, I’m Hunk. Part-time tutor,” he smiles at him, extending a hand across the desk. Keith stares at how huge his hand looks for a moment before shaking it, Hunk’s fingers wrapping warm and snug around his palm, hand almost completely engulfed. Keith isn’t quite sure how to articulate how shocking and unexpectedly _nice_ it is, his own grubby hand sliding down to his side after he releases it. 

After a beat passes, Keith realizes he should probably say something. “Keith.” He hates how his voice almost cracks. 

“Nice to meet you,” Hunk replies, but not in a passive manner like anyone else might say when meeting someone for the first time, only to move onto something else. He says it like he means it genuinely. It doesn’t help the fluttering in Keith’s chest. 

“So what’s the sitch? Do you have Iverson?” Hunk asks after another beat passes where Keith can’t say a damn thing, but Hunk seems utterly unbothered, pulling Keith’s class syllabus toward him. “Oh, dang, yeah. Iverson sucks,” he answers his own question as his espresso brown eyes scan the packet, his lip quirked up in a crooked smile. Keith tears his eyes away. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” he clears his throat, curling his fingers around his pen. “It’s… my second time taking it. Iverson’s the only one that teaches it, so…,” he says tightly and shrugs, thumbing at his notebook and cursing it for being the bane of his existence. He recalls Shiro’s _they don’t care, Keith_ at the back of his mind, flipping through to the last few lessons that the exam covered. 

Hunk hums in response, putting the syllabus aside as well as the framed meme. “My friend took it twice, too. O-chem is notoriously hard, everyone takes it twice. It’s cool,” he says calmly with a shrug, and Keith flicks his eyes up to see that he really doesn’t care. Still smiling like that. Like it’s so easy. 

O-chem? Pfft. 

The corners of Keith’s mouth quirk up in a smile. He really hopes this tutor can back it up. 

“So what are you having trouble with? Let’s start small, work up from there,” Hunk says so levelly with such an air of painlessness, folding his fingers together. Cute. 

Keith explains his troubles with the content, showing him the notations and equations he can’t quite wrap his head around, the complicated terms and what they mean and do in certain problems. Hunk really meant it when he said to start small, going back to basics. Keith’s almost annoyed, clearly so by rolling his eyes, because he at least knows _that_ stuff. 

But Hunk says, “Just wait,” and proceeds to rearrange his whole brain by the compartmentalization he lays out. Step by fucking step. And he uses very little chemistry jargon that usually confuses Keith, explaining it all simply yet academically sound, fingers pointing to equations, making notes with his own blue pen next to Keith’s black. Painless. 

They get through one lesson and another, and slowly Keith starts connecting the dots. It makes a little more sense. Some things he had no clue on tie in with things he does. It helps that Hunk seems to think this is as easy as riding a bike, answering Keith’s questions with another bright smile and a laugh as he makes a pun. He seems to have multiple chemistry puns up his sleeve, too, and though some of them are really dumb and don’t quite land, some make Keith laugh. It makes him forget that alkaloids are a pain in the ass.

His back starts hurting after awhile, shoulders sore and neck stiff, and Keith looks to his phone. He’s got ten minutes to get to his next class and he’s shocked that three hours passed so fast after all that science. 

“I gotta get going,” he says, tucking his phone into his coat pocket and gathering up his materials, looking up to see Hunk stretching his arms over his head. Keith forgot how muscled his arms looked in that sweater for the last few hours but now he definitely remembers. He tears his eyes away before he can be caught staring when Hunk lowers them.

“About that time, huh? What class you have next?” Hunk asks conversationally, cracking his knuckles. Goddamn. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

“Uh,” Keith frantically wracks his brain. “A stupid gen-ed class.” He’d rather not say he’s taking bowling with a bunch of freshman for his ‘human development’ credit, because that’s stupid, right? “What about you? Do you have class?” 

“Nah, I only have two in the morning. Going home after this,” Hunk says as he slides the syllabus back to Keith, standing and picking up the framed meme and waving it with a grin. “Gotta take the world’s most interesting man back downstairs, though.” 

Why does that make Keith smile? So dumb. 

“Well, uhm… thanks. For the tutoring,” he says as he also stands, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m usually here Wednesdays if you need any more help. Iverson never lets up,” Hunk smiles, tucking his free hand into his tailored jean pocket. Keith tries not to think how tall he is, or how his shoes are so nice, something like Oxfords but in boot form. Well worn and cared for. 

He waves at him in a stilted goodbye before hightailing it out of there. When he gets outside and pounds down the staircase to the sidewalk, he remembers the teacher had emailed earlier today that bowling was cancelled for the night. 

Something about that is disappointing.


	2. Chapter 2

One thing Keith has accepted as fact, cemented in his brain for the second time: Iverson, indeed, never lets up. Literally only three weeks into the semester and the guy is handing out lessons without stable context, just like last time, throwing them into labs like french fries to a pack of seagulls and expecting them to make it out alive, all on top of outrageous requirements and grade point scales. It’s insane. Keith’s ready to tear his textbook in half. 

Shiro, bless his old heart, listens to Keith rant in his shoe-box office in some back corner of the teacher’s hallways, patting his shoulder understandably. He tells Keith he’s glad he went to see a tutor, at least, and suggests he goes again if he still needs help. 

“But Shiro,” he gasps out in exasperation, dragging his hands down his cheeks. “The guy is so smart. And an even bigger dork than you. He wears _ties_. To school. Who does that?”

Shiro furrows his brows and smiles, tugging on his own plain black tie. “Uh, people who want to present themselves?” He suggests with a humorous tone, eyeing Keith’s usual flannel and jean jacket combo. 

“Okay, but you’re a grad student. For history. C’mon, it’s like a requirement,” Keith throws his hands out to gesture to his outfit, rolling his eyes at Shiro’s facetiousness, remembering why he grew out of his crush for him years ago. “And you student teach, so. Argument void and null.” 

Shiro just shrugs and nods agreeably, twisting back and forth in his chair, tapping his pen on the desk. He raises a brow. Keith knows that look. A moment passes.

“So he’s cute?” 

Ugh. 

“Very. And he probably thinks something’s wrong with my throat because I kept clearing it. It was cracking every other word,” he groans, leaning back in the most uncomfortable chair in the world, probably pulled from a janitor’s closet. 

He stares up at the ceiling, remembering those glasses and how they framed his eyes, those little cat faces on his collar. Those _hands_. God, those damn hands. Broad, square palms, thick and strong fingers, so gentle and precise writing out notations and flipping pages. And when they shook hands? Keith palm tingles just recalling it. 

Fucking ridiculous. 

“Hm,” Shiro hums, dropping the foot he had resting on his knee, turning back to his desk. Keith can hear the gears in his head turning. “Well, try going back. He obviously knows what he’s talking about. And if he’s cute, just consider it an added plus, yeah?” 

Keith rolls his head on the back of the chair to level Shiro with an unamused look. Shiro just shrugs. Keith gathers up his backpack and thermos full of fresh coffee thanks to his friend, leaving Shiro’s office with a weary ‘see you later’, and makes his way to the student center for lunch again. 

Well, it’s Wednesday exactly a week later, and Hunk said he’d be around. He resigns himself to his fate, as awkward as it may be, and goes to the library basement after eating. The same guy, Rolo, is there, actually doing schoolwork or something this time, wearing the school’s standard royal blue shirt. 

When Keith comes up to the desk he flashes him a big smile and for a moment Keith’s blindsided. He looks better when he’s not falling asleep, or blazed, or whatever plane of existence he was on the last time Keith spoke to him. It also makes him wonder what he did or what he looks like to get a smile like that out of anyone. 

“Hey again, man,” Rolo greets him in an easy drawal, pushing away from where was crouched over his book. “Lookin’ for the big guy?” 

Still on some kind of nebulous, chill plane. Keith should figure out how to get there. 

He jerks his head in half a nod. “Yeah. Hunk.” 

“Sweet,” Rolo says, and pushes away from the desk in the wheeled chair, inching his way to the back offices still sitting in it, snail pace. Keith smirks. College. 

Hunk comes through the doors a few minutes later wheeling Rolo back to the desk, laughing about something. Keith is altogether shaken to his boots at that rumbling laugh, joyful and lilting and just a little noisy in the quiet basement, but he pushes the shivers aside, stuffing his hands deep into his jacket pockets. 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Rolo…,” Hunk says, putting Rolo back in his spot at the desk before looking up and gifting Keith a smile with a mischievous edge to it. “Hey, Keith. Did Rolo try to swindle you?” 

Keith raises his brows, wondering what that could mean, before said student employee pipes up. “Hey, I don’t _swindle_ people. Jesus. I’m an upstanding citizen working to pay off student loans for Altea University,” Rolo says with false haughtiness, flicking a paperclip at Hunk’s back as he rounds the desk. 

“Sure, man,” Hunk says to him before turning to Keith, his smile transforming into something softer even as he stands tall and broad in front of him. “Upstairs?” he suggests.

Keith catches a whiff of cologne. All he can do is nod in response, turning away before he can lean in like a moron. 

They find the same table still open, and Keith hauls out all of his shit but half of it is worthless as Hunk dives in where they left off. Hunk takes his notes and skims through them, scoffing at how Iverson worded his lecture slides that Keith had recorded diligently, narrowing his eyes at the lab manual that Keith had mostly completed on Monday. Hunk proceeds to re-explain everything. Start to finish. Basically making up his own damn lesson on the fly. 

It made sense. Like, so much sense was made Keith’s brain was promptly careening into space ahead of him, taking him along for a ride. Hunk had brought a messenger bag with him and he pulls it into his lap, whipping out a MacBook and showing Keith a PowerPoint presentation he had made while taking o-chem two years ago (holy shit, he was a _freshman_?). It was basically like Iverson’s except much simpler, even stuffed to the slide edges with numbers and letters. 

“So, essentially, Iverson’s an idiot,” Hunk says with utter conviction, and Keith snorts out a surprised laugh. 

“Essentially,” he agrees, and scrolls a few more slides over. “So, like, why does it work like that? It doesn’t make any sense…,” and they fall back into it. 

 

Things start making a little less sense and Keith can’t wrap his head around the enthalpy and free energy concept (what in the fresh hell?) that just piles on top of more o-chem bullshittery, and Hunk tries to break it down for him but Keith’s brain just wasn’t having it. Hunk was obviously getting tired of making the same beats around the bush, and knowing that he was getting frustrated too made Keith more frustrated in return.

“What the fuck,” Keith mumbles with utter feeling, dropping his pen to the desk, smothering his face with his half gloved hands. 

He hears Hunk heave a sigh, leaning away from where he was hunched over a sheet of printer paper scrawled in his blocky handwriting. “Hey, do you like cookies?” he asks after a few moments, tone light. 

Keith pulls his hands away. “Yeah,” he says, halfway confused. Who doesn’t like cookies?

Hunk procures a container from his bag and sets it on the table between them, and if Keith wasn’t looking he wouldn’t have caught that timid look in his eyes behind his fringe of bangs and glasses. But, as it is, he was definitely looking, just before Hunk lifts a brow and smiles. 

“I made too much and brought them to snack on. They’re just snickerdoodle, but my roommate loves them, so…,” he shrugs as he peels off the lid, a half dozen or so cookies tenderly packed within. “They’re alright.” He pushes the container towards him. 

Keith had ate only an hour and a half ago but he can definitely eat more, so he gingerly picks the top one and takes a bite. Sparks fly on his tongue from the sugar, smoothed by sweet vanilla and gentle cinnamon, easily the softest cookie he’s had in a while with just a bit of crunch. He slides down his seat a little as he chews, Hunk beaming in front of him.

When he swallows, he bursts, “Just snickerdoodle? Dude. _Dude_. These are more than alright.” Shoves another bite into his mouth. 

Hunk takes a cookie, too, and leans back in his chair to mirror Keith. He swears he sees his cheeks have gotten a little pinker but it might just be the angle.

“Thanks, man. So, uhm,” Hunk takes a bite, swerving his eyes up to the ceiling and blinking rapidly before pushing his glasses up on his forehead. He seems to forget what he was going to say as he rubs at his eyes with his cookie-free hand, but Keith can’t be bothered to remind him. He stares at how Hunk’s hair has been pushed up to poke out in odd fluffy angles, and when he finally removes his fingers, he gets to see his big brown eyes blinking owlishly, and. That’s. That’s something. 

Hunk re-adjusts his glasses and carries on like Keith didn’t discover several revelations, saw the skies opening to take his soul out of his mortal vessel. Completely unaware. 

“What are you majoring in? Definitely something science-y,” Hunk asks, holding his cookie far more delicately than anyone with hands like his have a right to. 

(Keith wonders how Hunk, with all his knowledge on complicated chemistry, can say ‘science-y’ so meaningfully. It’s almost hilarious.) 

Keith finishes his cookie in a bite and dusts the crumbs off his lap, washes the bite down with a sip of stale coffee. “Aerospace--” clears his throat for the fifth time, “physics. I wanna get the first failed o-chem grade off my transcript.”

Hunk’s eyes widen excitedly but he waits to say anything before he finishes chewing, sitting up and putting an elbow on the table. “No way! My roommate’s going for the same thing. Crazy how that works. Stupid you have to take o-chem, though,” he says candidly, finishing his cookie before grabbing up another one. Keith notices he’s wearing a nice watch, along with his sweater and collared shirt combo. No tie this time. Keith might have drooled from the sheer put-togethered-ness. Dude should not be in college. He should be teaching college. 

“Yeah,” Keith says because as usual he has nothing else to say, at least outwardly. “Why’d… you take o-chem?” Geez, what a great question, Keith. He picks up another cookie to hide his flushing cheeks. 

“Well, it’s kinda the backbone of my field, I guess,” Hunk says offhandedly, like he doesn’t want to puff up too much, glancing up at Keith almost shyly. Almost. “Environmental geology-slash-chemistry’s my major, so… lots of… organic stuff. Chemicals. Chemistry. Organic chemistry.” 

Keith smiles, and something about Hunk elaborating makes his stomach flutter. “And rocks,” he adds before he can double-check his remark. 

Hunk points at him and it makes him laugh abruptly. “You’re right. Not as many as you’d think, though. Lots of sand, too. Slate. Some paleontology here and there.” 

“Dinosaurs,” Keith mumbles around a bite of cookie, nodding his head sagely. Hunk giggles, and yup, that’s his soul currently parting from this dimension. Keith has to turn and root around in his backpack at his feet to distract himself. Looking for nothing, of course. 

No one in a sweater and collared shirt has any right to be this cute, he knows. Knows as a fact. It’s law breaking. Fucking illegal. Also, like a cherry on top, no one who’s as smart as Hunk should be _tutoring_ , jesus. Keith considers himself lucky that he is, though. 

Almost too fast, too quick, the time surprises Keith again and he has to leave. Hunk nods good naturedly, beaming brightly at him even though it’s nearly five at night and the sun’s no longer up, but it’s not like Keith realizes anyway. Just as he’s about to turn and leave, Hunk stops him with, “Oh, hey,” and searches noisily through his bag for a pen, making writing motions with his other hand. Keith pulls one out of his pocket and hands it over. 

“Just so you don’t have to come down to the basement again. Or if another day works better for you than strictly Wednesdays…,” Hunk explains as he rips off a corner of a sheet of paper, turning to scribble on it on the tabletop, having to hunch over to reach the surface. Keith very pointedly does not look at his ass. Nope. (If he does, he might never get it out of his mind.) 

After a handful of seconds, Hunk turns back and gives him the scrap of paper and borrowed pen, his other hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “My number. Just… like I said. If you need help. During other times. I know the basement’s kinda weird...,” he says in a lowered voice, mumbling other things under his breath that brushes right over the ringing in Keith’s ears. 

After gawking at the scrawl of familiar shaped numbers on the paper, Keith drags his eyes up to Hunk’s face, seeing his nervous crooked smile, the obvious tint to his cheeks, eyes sparkling curiously and almost hopefully behind his glasses. God. He’s cute and handsome as all hell to boot. It’s unfair. 

Keith’s brain lags behind his mouth, slowly nodding as he gets his shit together. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks. I’ll, uhm… let you know. The other times. If. If I need help.” He’s smiling, he can feel it bubbling up in his chest, tickling his throat and making his cheeks tingle. He tries to subdue it and he only succeeds marginally. Hunk’s number. He has it. 

Just like that. 

“Cool cool cool. Sounds gouda. Well, hey, don’t let me make you late to class,” Hunk gestures vaguely in the direction of the staircase behind Keith, his eyes zeroed in on his face, something about his hand movements and bouncing heels appearing giddy. 

Keith jerks his thumb over his shoulder, half turns, shrugs, probably shimmies for all he knows. His heart thuds in his ears as he huffs out a laugh, blurting, “It’s just bowling. Stupid anyway. But—yeah. Yeah. Okay.” He turns all the way this time, striding toward the doors. Grins down at his feet where Hunk can’t see. 

Distantly behind him he hears a soft laugh and, “Yeah. See you.” 

The scrap of paper and Hunk’s number burns a hole in his pocket the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Keith. You adorable nerd. 
> 
> Things are gonna be picking up soon ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a Coffeeshop AU tag for a reason

The scrap of paper continues burning a hole in his pocket through to Friday when Keith shares an aerodynamics lab with Lance, who keeps asking him about his plans for the weekend. Somehow, with as much as they annoy each other, they’re friends in a weird way. That happens when sharing the same major and coursework for the last three years, he supposes. 

Lance is particularly adamant about dragging Keith to this houseparty down the street from his apartment, “It’s literally a five minute walk, Keith,” wiggling his eyebrows at him in a manner that might be meaningful if Keith cared to decipher it.

“I told you, dude. I literally work all weekend. Clopens. I can’t,” Keith says with much exasperation, changing the fan dynamics on their mini wind tunnel contraption, writes down the readings from the screen into his lab manual. 

“Ugh. The ye olde close to open. The clopen. I see you,” Lance mumbles, writing the same things down before Keith adjusts the settings. He nudges his elbow into Keith’s side, making him roll his eyes. “What about tonight, huh? My roommate’s making wings for the game. And, like, salsa for days. So many bacon-wrapped weenies.”

Keith is touched by Lance’s forwardness in asking to hang out with his friends, because that means he doesn’t think he’s a complete asshole. They’ve hung out before, Lance took him to a party in freshman year when his other friend couldn’t go (yeah, he felt a little bit like a rebound, but Keith was desperate to get boozed up and find a boy to kiss to distract him from Shiro, so: no blame), and Lance has been to his place before to study and do homework. 

Still, tonight is too short-notice. He hasn’t mentally prepared himself to socialize. To act like a real human being to other human beings. He’d rather cuddle with his cat and not be a human being. 

“Thanks,” Keith starts with a deadpan, “but homework. No can do.” 

Lance sighs heavily next to him, dropping his pen to his manual with an unsaid huff of weariness. Keith glances at him with furrowed brows and tells him to grab the thingy. Lance is always a bit dramatic. He grabs the thingy. 

But he doesn’t push any further, which is not something typical in the Lance How-To. He pulls out his phone to probably text Allura, or look at Snapchat. Keith doesn’t sneak a look, but he has a distinct feeling Lance wants to keep talking about plans. Keith raises a brow and turns away to keep working on their lab assignment. 

Lance reminds him of his party invite as class ends, the two of them having exchanged numbers forever ago. “Seriously, if you ever get bored of playing Diablo III by yourself, with Hobbs, _alone_ , in your _room_ , in the _dark_ —let me know.” 

As if he’ll ever get bored of Diablo III. But he offers Lance a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, sure. See you Monday, man,” and takes his twenty minute walk home. 

Hobbs, as usual, is ecstatic to see him, rubbing up on his legs with his small cat body, chirping and meowing up a storm and playing with his boot laces as he unties them. He follows Keith to his room and watches him take his heavy sweatshirt, jeans and binder off, staring up with an unblinking green stare, and Keith groans out dramatically in relief for his enjoyment. 

“Feels good, Hobbs. Now, where’d you drag my sweatpants…,” he smirks at his cat, rooting around in his black clothes pile for said sweatpants until he finds them. 

It’s a high drama night. Keith makes a cold-cut ham sandwich, feeding little niblets to Hobbs because he’s enjoying himself up on the counter, and almost rips the Doritos bag in half trying to open the damn vacuum sealed thing. Hobbs makes a move for the cheese on the counter but Keith steals it away before can get his nose in it. 

Keith settles on the couch and turns on the T.V., scarfing down his dinner in record time before picking up his PS4 controller for his Diablo III campaign run-though #4, Hobbs curling up in his lap right against his hips. He holds the controller in front of him as his Barbarian ravages skeletons and monsters, tearing through the Khazra Den and the Fields of Misery for the sword pieces, and then after Maghda because she’s an asshole. Hobbs gets one of his claws stuck in his shirt trying to pull his arm closer around his head, purring like a motor and all-around hardly ever leaving Keith’s lap. 

Very high drama. 

~~

The Saturday evening rush isn’t anything to scoff at, college kids stopping through for coffee before their night out on the block a few streets away or studying, parents bringing in their kids between hockey tournaments, general fill-ups. Pidge makes him take the register while she makes the drinks, and even though Keith’s faster at it, he takes pity on his friend’s late night programming session she had yesterday with Matt because he’s in town. 

Keith doesn’t wholly mind taking drinks and writing on cups because most people know what they want, know what the menu items mean, but some customers grate on his nerves. Like the people who come in ordering drinks from other chain stores. Then, he’s really gotta pretend he’s an employee who actually works here, going through the menu and dairy or non-dairy options. 

After the line depletes and all the drinks have been handed off, Pidge shoves a cup of two espresso shots in his hand, dolloped with whipped cream and Keith’s knees almost buckle with relief. “Thanks, Pidge,” he mumbles before taking a creamy sip, leaning against the front counter. 

“Can I change the playlist, please? Listening to The Shins and other indie shit is making my brain melt,” she asks with no lack of snark, scrubbing a sanitizer towel through the spilled milk on the counter in front of the espresso machines. 

Keith rolls his eyes. He likes that indie shit. But he can’t. “They’re set playlists, Pidge. I’d be sniped as soon as I tried to change it. They’re in the ceiling.” 

Pidge is not amused by his deadpan humor. “Corporate shouldn’t dictate what we get to listen to, honestly… nobody’s even listening…,” she mumbles heatedly before getting started on some of the easier closing tasks. Keith’s glad he’s working with her. 

The night starts winding down after the rush, the sun setting and going dark outside, leaving the street illuminated by the Christmas lights on the barren trees the city workers still haven’t taken down. It’s cold outside but warm inside the cafe, quiet and buzzing with small chatter, the smell of brewed coffee lingering through the turning of textbook pages. As much as Keith will rag on it, he likes working in a coffeeshop. At least when he’s not pulling his hair out at the roots. Also, free coffee? Yes, please. 

Keith sips on a dark roast flavored with a bit of honey as he sweeps behind the counters, Pidge out in the lobby bussing and cleaning the few empty tables, and it’s just as he’s standing up straight he sees a customer at the counter. “Be with you in a second,” he says as he goes to hang up the broom around the corner. 

And when he gets back to the counter he swears he almost trips over his feet. 

“Hey, Keith. I didn’t know you worked here,” Hunk says jovially with that crooked smile on his face, hands tucked in his jean jacket pockets. In the few seconds it takes Keith’s brain to go offline, he notices matching yellow flower patches across the front chest of the jacket, nearly reaching to his shoulders. Another patch on the side of his upper arm. Shit. 

_Keith.exe has stopped working._

He gawks at him for a maximum of eleven seconds before distracting himself with the very interesting register screen. “Uhm. Hi. Hello.” 

_Keith.exe has crashed. In the Trash Bin. Slam dunked._

Hunk’s not dressed in his nerd clothes, probably because it’s Saturday night and they’re ten minutes from campus. But jesus, he looks good. He looks really good in that jacket. He’s got a zip up red hoodie underneath it, too, and it makes him look really warm. _Hot_. 

And when Keith flicks his eyes back up to his face, he sees he’s not wearing glasses, either. It’s too much. Hunk has the most friendliest eyes he’s ever seen on anyone else in his whole life and he’s looking straight at _him_. Laughing amicably about Keith’s stuttering failure. Somehow his hair looks messier. Gotta be the clothes. 

As usual, Hunk doesn’t mind talking first. “How’s it going?” he asks, his voice carrying that deep, casual cadence that makes Keith’s spine melt into his shoes. 

He clears his throat, tugging at the high neck of his black sweater. “It’s—it’s good. We’re, uh… slowing down. So that’s nice,” he says conversationally, amazed that his voice stays as low as he wants it to, as it should be. But he grimaces because Hunk doesn’t want to hear about working at the Lion’s Brew, so he searches frantically amongst his wrecked brain files for a common thread. “I’ve got a quiz on Wednesday, for o-chem. But… shouldn’t be too hard. Now, at least. Uh. Yeah.” 

Hunk’s smile stretches a little, goes soft on the edges, and he huffs a laugh while looking down at his Chucks. God. That’s so cute. “I’m glad to hear it, man. It’s nice knowing that tutoring helps. I… I like that,” he nods as if to convince himself, and wow, are his eyes sparkling? Or is that just the warm lighting of the cafe? Either way Keith’s heart is in shambles. 

Then, like a literal parting of the Red Sea, the Big Bang, the invention of the wheel, Keith has an idea. A brilliant, mind-bending, stupidly mundane idea. Inspired by that overworn scrap of paper bearing a familiar string of numbers, currently still in his coat pocket hanging up in the back. He’s gotta take it. It’s practically yelling at him. 

“But, uhm, I could use some refreshers beforehand. On, like, Tuesday? Does that work?” He asks, one hand on the counter, the other busy with rubbing his apron between his fingers. 

He watches Hunk’s thick brows raise up his forehead behind his mess of bangs. He scrunches up one side of his face as he thinks, and Keith can’t help but grin despite the tangle of noodles squirming in his insides. He wonders about the array of facial expressions Hunk can make because he seems to have an endless amount. 

“Yeah, I think so, I have to go to my internship around three. So, if we meet up before then…,” Hunk says, his face relaxing into his usual too-handsome expression of friendliness and sunshine.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can text you,” Keith says almost too quick, his chest sparkling and feeling a bit caged in with how fast his heart thuds, binder suddenly too tight. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, remembering the real reason Hunk’s here. “What would you like?”

“Oh—yeah. Coffee. I would like coffee, please.” Hunk seems to need a second to remember too, and just that little fantastical niblet makes that sparkling feeling last. Hunk chuckles, swerving his head around to look at the menu to the side. “Oh, wow. There’s so many options, dude. How do you memorize all of it?” he says as his eyes scan back and forth. 

“They’re all basically the same. Just different syrups, really,” Keith says, letting his eyes trace the length of Hunk’s neck before looking back to the register. 

“Ah, crap…,” Hunk says to himself, sidestepping to the bakery case next to the register counter. “I just ate but these look so good…,” he nibbles his lip, his hand coming out of his pocket to tap his fingers on his chin. 

Keith lets him ponder, desperately trying not to make it obvious how he keeps looking over Hunk in that gorgeous jacket, elbows patched over with brown leather, and when he turns he sees the back of it is covered in _more_ patches. He sees a NASA logo, a bear’s head, another flower one, a Star Wars Rebel insignia, some cool brand names he doesn’t know, but then Pidge comes into his peripheral. She’s grinning at him, wiggling her brows and twirling the towel in her hands. Keith makes a face at her even as he feels his cheeks heating up. 

Pidge comes around the counter not thirty seconds later when Hunk’s about to make his decision, Keith clenching his jaw to tell her to keep it cool. But he doesn’t have to when Hunk turns back to the register and breaks out into an incredulous grin, seeing Pidge standing next to him. 

“Pidge?! Is that you?” Hunk exclaims excitedly, and Pidge almost jumps over the counter to hug him. Keith’s mouth drops a little. 

“Hey, big guy! It’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you,” Pidge says, holding herself up by a hand on the counter to reach up and ruffle Hunk’s hair just before he does the same thing to hers. Pidge turns to Keith once her feet hit the floor mat again, nudging him aside with her hip to stand in front of the register. “I’ve got this, you dingus. Get our friend Hunk here a large black coffee with cinnamon and honey. Is that about right?”

Hunk laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah, that’s right. I only get it every time I come in.” 

Keith goes to do just that, pursing his mouth to the side. Most of him is glad Pidge hurdled in to save him some awkwardness, and it’s not like he knows what to talk about anyway, but the small, petty little part of him wanted to ring Hunk out. The two of them seem to be friends, Hunk working with Pidge’s brother Matt at his internship at—did he say the Garrison? No shit? Keith’s brain almost rockets straight out of his skull when he catches that, getting droplets of near boiling coffee on his hand. No wonder he knows chemistry so well. 

Even though he didn’t ask for one, Keith grabs him a cake pop from the bakery case because he was eyeing them earlier, sliding the bag across the counter along with the coffee. “It’s on Pidge,” Keith says with a pointed glance sideways when Hunk aww’s at the free treat. 

“Sure thing, _Keith_ ,” Pidge retorts but she’s not put off, smiling as she uses her employee discount on the total, the cake pop free and coffee mostly free. 

“Geez, guys… I’m gonna go broke here,” Hunk says jokingly, laying out two ones on the counter, and Keith sees him discreetly put a five into the tip jar. He almost reaches out to throw it back at him but Pidge checks him aside again and takes his money. 

“Oh, please, keep telling people how that internship is so _taxing_ on you,” Pidge jokes back, slapping the coins into Hunk’s hand to make him take it. Hunk only rolls his eyes as he thanks her, his cheeks a fair bit pinker. 

“It is, I promise,” Hunk says, and tosses Keith a wink. He almost chokes on his spit. 

“Well, I expect you to hold that promise and come over sometime while Matt’s still in town. He has some wild shit he won’t shut up about,” Pidge replies as she closes the cash drawer, leaning an elbow up on the register screen and turning her head to regard Keith with a narrowed, knowing look. Smirking. Deviously. Keith hasn’t seen it like _that_ before. 

And then Pidge is waving Hunk goodbye, turning to do something in the back, leaving Keith standing there like a dipshit. He swivels his head around to see Hunk is still there, holding his coffee and pastry bag, face forever bright and open and smiling. He tips the coffee to Keith in some unspoken gesture and Keith’s mouth forgets how to make words.

“Tuesday?” Hunk says softly, so quietly, that smile holding something else now. Something secret. 

“Yeah. Tuesday before three,” Keith says back just as hushed, feeling his stomach tilt and slosh around as he smiles back at him. 

He watches Hunk go, his elbows finding their way to lean against the top of the register screen, admiring all those patches, and this time, he lets his eyes go to his ass. It’s nice. Beyond nice. Framed snugly and just right in those black jeans, thighs and calves even looking good. He’s not even aware he’s still smiling and melting against the register until Pidge pokes his cheek. 

“Oh my god, Keith. Holy shit. That was a hot mess,” she cackles, leaning against the counter and deflecting Keith’s instant rebutting jab to her arm. “How do you know Hunk? What are you guys doing Tuesday? Huh? Staring at each other with stars in your eyes?” 

Keith… is not sure what to make of that. Obviously, then, it means nothing. “He’s helping me with o-chem. He’s the only one who happens to know it well enough at the student academic place in the library. Since, you know, you don’t know any o-chem,” Keith replies haughtily, snagging a towel from the bucket to clean off the empty coffee urns. He tried asking Pidge for help with his homework once and she burst out laughing. Never asked again. 

“Oh, yeah? Is that all you guys are doing Tuesday?” she ribs relentlessly, crossing her arms and ankles. Keith feels her eyes on the back of his sweatered neck. Like needles. 

“Uh, yeah. Just o-chem stuff. That’s all,” he retorts but the heat isn’t in it anymore. Something about Pidge’s teasing is making the gears in his head spin. Makes his stomach feel like he drank twelve slushies. His hand with the towel slows it’s scrubbing. 

“Keith has a crush,” Pidge sing-songs behind him a moment later, walking off somewhere. 

The gears click into place. Now that there’s a word for it, Keith groans, butting his forehead against the coffee urn. 

There’s no doubt about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man, Keith. Anyway, I'm 200% about Hunk being smooth af without even trying. 
> 
> thank you for reading!! I'd love to hear what you think so far!! The next chapter is gonna be a longer one, so I hope some of you stick around! <33
> 
> Also, side note: Hobbs is named after the Hobbs boson particle. Science


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of 'studying,' talking about music and uhhh flirting? Maybe? Lots of flirting. And Hunk is a genuinely good dude. 
> 
> Long chapter because idk how to pace myself.

Keith finds out sweating at 9 in the morning is the worst. No one should be sweating this much so early. When he went on his run yesterday morning at the respectable hour of 11, he did not sweat like this. Even the tips of his fingers are sweating. 

He texted Hunk yesterday asking if he wanted to meet in the right wing of the library, a bit away from the bookshelves and where most of the students congregate, leaving it a quieter space but one they could talk in. Because. He hopes there’s gonna be talking, even if he sucks at it sometimes. But also, the chairs there are comfier, like elongated restaurant benches on one side with a table and chairs on the other side, accented with stereotypical geometric patterns. 

Keith said he’d be there around 10 but he’s there by 9:30, staying in his apartment staring at Hobbs in his full day clothes too much. He checked his shirt six times to make sure the binder straps weren’t showing, all the lines smooth, having decided to forego his usual flannel. He texted Shiro asking him what shirt he liked and all he replied back with after five minutes of dots was ‘the blue one’. He was right. It matched his black jeans and boots, long sleeved and warm enough for the walk to campus underneath his coat. Keith put on a grey beanie to top it off. He looked fine. 

He finds a table that’s close enough to some students already there but not too far to make it seem like he’s intentionally searching for alone time, or something. It’s just a study session, Hunk said he’d bring his materials for his other classes too. It was gonna be fine, chill, laid-back. That’s the idea, at least. 

Keith looks at his phone, earbuds in his ears, and rereads Hunk’s last text message:

 **Hunk, Tutor GUy [Yesterday 2:15 PM]:**  
Sounds gouda, I’ll be there and square B) 

Keith bites his lip. He can’t believe Hunk says ‘gouda’ unironically. 

But it’s not a crush. It is but it isn’t. Hunk’s totally straight. And Keith’s only 50% “straight”, otherwise he’s as gay as they come. In other words, bi as hell. But a part of Keith is telling him that there’s no way a straight dude can dress as well as Hunk does. It’s not possible. It’s not how the universe works. 

But still, he wonders. It’s also absolutely not his business. But if he wasn’t straight….

The coffees Keith brought with him are getting cool and he wishes he didn’t get them so early. He scrolls through his phone and distracts himself with Spider solitare to pass the next twenty minutes, steadily getting out his materials for o-chem as well as his aerospace physics class. 

Keith’s only a little bit surprised when Hunk shows up early, barely ten minutes after Keith sat down. 

“Hey! I thought I was early, but it seems like I’m late,” Hunk says brightly, pulling off his scarf as he rounds the corner of the table, unzipping his coat, and… sitting… right next to Keith on the bench. 

Oh. 

“No, you’re fine…,” Keith says airily, scooting a bit to the right to give him space to sit and get his arms out of his coat. Keith’s pointedly ignoring his flushing cheeks. “I, uhm. Brought coffee. For making you come here so early.”

Hunk scoffs but his smile is wide. “Thanks! You didn’t have to since I’m usually up pretty early, but… that’s nice of you,” he says as he reaches out toward the cup, and Keith prays to all the gods he knows that the coffee’s still hot enough. Keith pretends he isn’t looking at him through the corner of his eye as Hunk takes a sip, grabbing one of his notebooks and flipping to an empty page. 

“First sip of coffee’s always the best,” Hunk says like it’s a prayer, and if Keith’s side closest to Hunk wasn’t already tingling, it definitely is now with how warm Hunk is. Like the coffee removed every wisp of cold he carried in with him from the outside. 

Keith’s lips pull up into a soft smile.

Hunk has his messenger bag with him on his other side and he pulls out his MacBook along with a binder and several pens, and Keith notices one is covered in pizza slices. Hunk seems to favor it, since the pictures are worn off into white near the tip. Also his binder is neatly organized, Leslie Knope-style, or Amy Santiago-style, tabbed off and color labeled. Jesus. First he’s wearing another goofy tie (Bill Nye-style), sweater, glasses, and now the binders? Since when was Keith into nerds? 

_Crushing_ on said nerds, he brutally reminds himself. 

“Hey, so, I have a question for you,” Hunk asks as he logs into his computer. 

Keith raises his brows, humming inquisitively. His heart starts racing for no good goddamn reason. 

“Can you look at this equation for me? It’s, like, halfway done, but it’s not quite… what’s supposed to happen,” Hunk asks, chuckling a bit, pushing aside his laptop as he thumbs through the tabs of his binder, flipping it open to show Keith what he’s asking. 

Keith almost wants to laugh, mostly in relief. “You want me to look at it? Are you sure?” He gives Hunk an incredulous look, lip curling at the mere idea. 

Hunk isn’t swayed. “Yeah, man, you’re crazy smart, I could definitely use a second opinion,” he says easily, picking up the pizza pen and twirling it between his fingers, his eyes soft behind his glasses. Keith stares at him, brain processing what he’s saying for a hot second, and determinedly pushes down his heart threatening to pop out of his mouth. 

He turns to read over the equation, adding up the math and notations and chemistry shit in his head, pulling out a calculator once it gets too complicated, muttering to himself. It’s very advanced, almost too much for Keith, but he resolves himself to figuring it out. Hunk waits patiently, doing other things on his computer, Keith feeling the steady thump of his foot tapping on the floor through the bench cushions. It doesn’t serve to distract him, though, instead keeps him focused. He gets to the end of the equation. 

“Can I write in something?” he asks, grabbing his plain but trusty black pen. 

“Yeah, please,” Hunk mumbles from behind the lip of the coffee lid. 

Keith writes in what he thinks is the last part of the equation, circling his answer and pushing the binder back toward Hunk. “I think that’s it.” 

Hunk hums in agreement, tilting his head to read it over, and Keith watches his pursed mouth slowly form into a broad smile, relieved and ecstatic, and Keith has to physically look away to keep himself from getting blinded. “Oh my god, dude, this is exactly it. How did I not see it? Wow…,” Hunk taps his pen twice to the page before flipping it, nudging his thigh against Keith’s very briefly. “Said you were crazy smart. Now you owe me twenty dollars.” 

Still reeling from the minuscule thigh bump and trying, desperately, not to read into it, he chokes out a scoff. “Twenty dollars? Who said we were making bets?” he grins, shaking his head. 

“Since right now. This second. Pay up, Keith,” Hunk rubs his fingers together in the money motion, but quickly lets it drop, winking teasingly at Keith before looking back to his laptop. 

“You’re gonna owe _me_ twenty dollars by the end of this o-chem exam. Reverse paid tutor,” Keith says offhandedly, lifting his brow as he skims through his materials. Hunk bursts out laughing and Keith’s stomach does approximately seventeen somersaults. Hunk tells him he doesn’t have to actually pay him, and Keith just shrugs ambiguously. 

He puts an earbud in his right ear so he can still hear Hunk to his left if he talks to him, but for now, he goes back to his own work and Hunk does the same. A quiet silence passes for awhile but it’s not uncomfortable, which Keith finds a bit… interesting. Not in a bad way. Just… nice. There’s no pressure to talk. Hunk taps his foot on the floor and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t require a conversation. Keith supposes that says something about him. 

As he’s hitting ‘next’ over and over on the premade Spotify playlist on his phone on the table between them, Hunk ‘ooh!’s and points to the song. “I love them. Though to be honest, I thought you’d be into garage grunge or something,” Hunk says, his voice a lowered hum. 

Keith furrows his brows to the song, which happens to be sitting at something completely… not that. He can’t blame Hunk for being a _titch_ nosy for looking at his phone when it’s sitting right there. But, “I do like grunge, actually,” he says with a bit of amusement, putting his phone on the other side of his homework. Just in case he gets an embarrassing message from… one of his apps? Shiro? Doesn’t matter. 

Hunk nods consideringly. “Have you heard of Alt-J?” 

Keith huffs a laugh as he writes down some notes. “Who hasn’t heard of Alt-J? They’re alright, though.” 

Hunk hums, bringing a hand up to tap his fingers to his chin. “What about… The White Stripes?” 

Keith shrugs like ‘eh, they’re alright.’ “What, is this a quiz I didn’t know about?” He asks with no particular bite. 

Hunk laughs almost apologetically, quietly. “No, just… trying to figure out what music you like. Seem to have some tricks up your sleeve…,” he says, wiggling his brows behind the top black rim of his glasses.

Keith rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Well…,” he considers. His music is very personal to him, as all music is. Tenderly selected, rigorously chosen. He wants to share. And if Hunk maybe shares the same taste... maybe one of his older playlists, then… He finds it on the app and shows the list to Hunk. “Just some older ones… kind of…,” he says quietly, and lets Hunk scroll through it. 

To his delight, Hunk commends him on some of the songs and artists, and some he admits he doesn’t know. Hunk pulls up his music on his computer and shows Keith some of his song selections, too, and Keith’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. Oh, man. Hunk has a lot of oldies (“Led Zeppelin? Everybody likes Led Zeppelin”, “Yeah, but not this album, specifically”, “Sure, man”), and a lot of folk and alternative. Shit. Keith can’t believe he has good music taste. Like, _actually_ good. Not just figuratively. Fucking physically good music taste. That makes him about twelve times more attractive which doesn’t help his case, at all. 

Keith adds some songs Hunk recommends and Hunk does the same, which is flattering. Hunk mentions how Neil Young and The Cure remind him of his mom, and shows him the playlist that he made for her, as well as some of his favorite songs that Keith’s never heard (which accrued overdramatic gasps of shock from Hunk). Hunk eagerly plugs in his earbuds to the computer and offers one to Keith, which has sirens and fireworks going off in his head as he nervously takes the earbud. He scoots closer so they’re touching thighs and—that’s definitely something. Especially when Hunk doesn’t shy away. But he plays a song and Keith almost forgets how close they’re sitting as soothing acoustic melodies wash over his ears. 

He doesn’t quite forget, though. He feels Hunk watching him to gauge his reaction but Keith can’t quite look at him when they’re sitting this close, almost touching shoulders, but Hunk still sits taller than him on the bench. He knows Hunk is smiling, can almost feel it, but he can’t look, not when he could look back so easily and see everything written on Keith’s face (because he knows he’s a shit liar). But, when Hunk turns a little to grab something, Keith steals his eyes away to his face. Hunk’s hair has flopped over his glasses in the movement flipping through a book for a certain page, but his soft smile is clear on his profile. Somehow he’s still handsome. 

Some time passes, Keith with Hunk’s earbud in as he shuffles through songs for Keith to listen to. It’s fucking magical. It’s all new, he’s never shared earbuds with someone he liked before, not like this, not listening to music. Keith can barely even do his homework. The words are melting on the pages. God, it’s almost noon now and Keith has only been able to half-ass one assignment, even fueled with coffee. Hunk still answers his questions about o-chem, though, like he’s hardly affected. Keith has noticed his foot isn’t tapping anymore. He wonders why that is. Hunk still hasn’t moved away, and a part of Keith marvels in that, goes shy in the other part. 

Some songs later, Keith finds his free hand tapping lightly on the paper to the beat of one of the songs, and when Hunk looks over he realizes he’s bobbing his head too. He pretends valiantly like he isn’t blushing as he says, “Sorry. It’s good music. I wish they’d put more songs like these into the playlists at work instead of old radio garbage.”

“Oh!” Hunk exclaims in the middle of the Fleet Foxes song. “I can’t believe I almost forgot.” He pulls out his earbud and turns to grab his messenger bag next to him, and Keith supposes his allotted time with the earbud has expired, so he pulls it out too. 

Hunk turns back and shows him a tupperware container, smirking as he lays it on one of his piled notebooks and drums his fingers over the lid. “So, uhm, you know those cake pops at your cafe the other day? Well, they were really super tasty, and I wanted to recreate them and thank you for getting me one for free, but they also reminded me of this goofy thing my nephew did with one once, talking about robots and aliens… he was all like...” 

Hunk peels off the lid as he explains the story about his eight year old nephew who really liked a Star Wars alien with weird eyes, revealing about eight pink and green iced cake pops inside the tupperware. Keith listens to the little anecdote with some amusement, since kids are strange these days, but mostly because Hunk lights up with something different as he talks about his family. It’s sweet, embarrassingly endearing on Keith’s part. Additionally, he’s impressed Hunk made cake pops inspired from that one insignificant instance in the café, one he didn’t think would make an impact to warrant the whole process of making cake pops. He listens intently, however, chuckling as Hunk goes on. 

“So he brought them up like—” and he brings two cake pops up to his eyes, with the sticks poking outwards, and proceeds to make a noise between a gargling bear and a Gregorian monk, and the sudden outburst has Keith laughing uproariously. He didn’t expect it, and his own laugh surprises him, shooting his hand up to cover his mouth as he leans away from Hunk and wheezes, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Hunk chuckles, too, putting a cake pop back inside the tupperware, keeping one to himself. “And yeah, that’s why I made cake pops. Please take one. That was so embarrassing,” Hunk says, biting off a chunk and nudging Keith’s knee as he continues to chuckle. “Oh my god, why are you still laughing? I can’t believe I did that, or why it’s so funny…,” Keith opens his eyes and sees that Hunk’s face is red, brows pinched together as he struggles to not laugh, too. 

“Oh my god,” Keith breathes out, taking pity on Hunk and grabbing a cake pop stem, one of the green ones. “What was that noise, even? You should film that. Put it up on Twitter.”

“No way, man. Only if other people find it as funny as you, then maybe,” Hunk says just before popping the rest of the cake pop into his mouth. 

As soon as Keith eats one half of the cake pop, he’s leaning back into the bench and closing his eyes blissfully. He honestly doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but this? This godly confection? This chewy ball of iced vanilla cake? He’s swooning. And his stomach is growling. And he’s grabbing another cake pop when Hunk pushes the tupperware toward him. “Holy shit, Hunk. Do you bake this kind of stuff all the time? First cookies, and now these… goddamn,” Keith’s mumbling through half a mouthful of goodness, trying and failing to pick back up where he left off on his homework. 

Hunk shrugs, crossing one of his arms over his chest while the other hand holds a second cake pop, the motion pushing their biceps together. Keith’s homework goes directly into the Trash Bin at the back of his brain as he feels the soft curve of his arm, well-muscled underneath the grey sweater with just a bit of give (not to mention how he’s oh-so delicately reminded of the ever-present press of his leg against his, _fuck_ ). Keith’s half-gloved fingers curl tighter around his pen, forcing himself to stay as still as stone. More still than Stonehenge. 

“I like cooking, yeah. I don’t bake much, but I enjoy it when the inspiration strikes. I’m glad you like them, I was kinda hoping you would,” Hunk says with a smile, and Keith’s heart might just give out. “I knew you liked the snickerdoodles but I didn’t want to go too crazy like some of the recipes I was looking at—like I saw one that had a legit full cherry in the middle? And it sounded good, but I wasn’t sure if that was too much, you know? I didn’t know if—if you liked… cherries…,” Hunk cuts himself off and promptly shoves the cake pop into his mouth as Keith watches. Brain processing. Processing. 

Oh. 

He clears his throat, staring holes into his notebook. “They’re really good,” he mumbles. Wow, that’s eloquent, Keith. Did Hunk make these for him _specifically_? Oh, shit. 

“Thanks,” Hunk says back timidly. Probably staring at his computer. 

“I do like cherries. By the way,” Keith blurts, tries to correct himself. Shuts his mouth. 

Hunk hums next to him, taps away at a document on his laptop. “I do too. Bing cherries are where it’s at, though.” 

And just like that, Keith’s back to smiling. “I like the slightly yellow and pink ones.” 

“Rainier cherries. Those are good, too. Crunchy.” 

“You eat the pits?” Keith teases, furrowing his brows. 

Hunk huffs out a laugh and says jokingly, “That’s the only way, man. Full cherry experience.” 

“Bet you can knot the stem with your tongue, too, huh?” Keith says before he realizes exactly what he’s saying, clearing his throat again. 

After a full beat, Hunk says with a toothy grin, cheeks pink, “Bet I could.” 

He’s not sure what to make of that. Keith’s pretty sure his notebook would be on fire right now with how hard he’s staring at it. Trying not to think of dexterous tongues. _Hunk’s_ dexterous tongue, tying cherry stems. God. That’s what he needs. He’s a sinner and he needs church. 

Hunk seems to take Keith’s flustered silence in smug stride, putting an elbow on the back of the bench as he leans back, holding up a sheet of paper to read. Keith slumps forward in order to not gawk openly at his posture, chewing on his third cake pop. He subtly moves away an inch to rifle in his backpack for a highlighter to give himself some space, worrying in the back of his mind if Hunk can see the lines of his binder through his shirt. 

“Well,” Hunk says, dropping the sheet of paper to the table with a resigned sigh. “It’s about lunch time. Are you hungry? Those cake pops made me realize that I am starving.”

Just thinking about food has Keith’s stomach folding on itself. A granola bar, some coffee and now cake pops for breakfast will do that. “Yeah. Cafeteria?”

“Hell yeah. The pizza’s actually pretty good…,” Hunk says, packing up his things as he goes on about some of the varieties the school offers for food. Keith is informed they actually have sushi on the second level, where he’s never bothered to venture. But Hunk swiftly convinces him it’s a hard No to try it, after his bad experience in freshman year. 

“Yeah, it’s _sushi-grade_ fish, but not sushi-grade fish,” he emphasizes cryptically as Keith nods along, swinging his backpack on over his puffy coat. 

“So it’s not good fish?” he asks with a curl to his mouth, watching Hunk’s hand gesticulate in a see-saw motion, the other kinda shrugging. 

“It’s good fish. But not, like, _great_ fish,” he finishes, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, giggling a little as they walk together. Keith laughs along, grasping what he’s saying but mostly enjoying how he’s saying it. 

“Just regular fish. From a supermarket. I get it,” he goes through the revolving doors into the shivering winds outside, Hunk following shortly behind. 

“Yeah, from a sushi supermarket. Dang, I wish they had those. Get some real sushi salmon. Tuna. Oh, man…,” Hunk groans as he talks about sushi he had once with his roommate and how they dared each other to eat all the wasabi in one bite. Hunk admits they both cried. Keith believes him, nearly laughing stitches into his side. Somehow he imagines Lance doing something stupid like that. 

“My friend told me to mix it with the soy sauce. Tastes so much better,” Keith says as their boots crunch through the salt and snow mixture on the sidewalks, feeling the wind buffet over his coat. He almost sidesteps into Hunk’s path, but he’d probably bowl him over anyway. “One time I almost inhaled the ginger. Smelled it at the back of my nose for like a week.” 

Hunk laughs, and he does it halfway between shivering so it sounds a little wild, face surrounded in his faux fur trimmed hood, which makes Keith grin for some reason. He’s so cute. “Ginger. So good,” Hunk says, teeth chattering. 

Keith reaches the door to the student center first and opens it wide to let Hunk through. Hunk, though, can’t make it normal, and gives him half a bow with, “Thank you, good sir,” before walking into the building. Keith shakes his head and follows after him with his stupid ever-present grin tucked behind his zipper. 

They walk around the food court trying to find what they’re in the mood for, and Keith debates between getting pasta or tacos for awhile. He picks up a bottle of unsweetened green tea from one of the coolers and Hunk nabs a lemonade. Then they walk by the fresh pizza booth and Hunk makes his decision on the chicken and bacon option they have. Keith considers going across the food court for the pasta but… the pizza… smells delicious. And the whole place is busy so he doesn’t want to have to look around for Hunk, so he asks for a big slice of the veggie pizza. 

“I’m not vegetarian, I promise,” Keith says when the student employee hands him his box, and Hunk shrugs good naturedly. Keith’s not sure why he had to tell him that… god. 

“Nah, I knew you weren’t the type,” Hunk replies confidently, making Keith wonder how he’s so convinced, where he got his data from. Hunk carries his own pizza box and lemonade, weaving his way through the other wandering students in front of him, Keith shortly behind because Hunk’s broad shoulders make plenty of room for him to walk behind without any trouble. 

At the registers, Hunk pays first, and compliments the girl on her bright pink hair. Keith picks up a bag of chips for later and smiles at Hunk’s wallet for having a massive cartoon whale on it, worn and weathered like he’s had it for years. After he’s finished Keith pulls out his student meal card when the cashier punches in his food items on the screen. Some feet away from him Hunk juggles his armload to untwist the cap to drink from his lemonade. 

Keith hands the cashier his card and she swipes, Keith reaching out to offer to open Hunk’s lemonade for him before the girl says, “Oh, sorry, your card has thirty cents on it.” 

Keith freezes. There’s no way. The card was loaded at the beginning of the semester and there’s zero possibility of having spent nearly two hundred dollars on food here, three weeks in. His heart jumps up into his throat as he scrambles for cash, but he has two dollars in his wallet. 

“Oh, fuck…,” he mutters under his breath, patting his pockets, ignoring how flaming red his cheeks are. The cashier is watching him, the person behind him is watching, it feels like the whole fucking food court is watching him as he fails to procure the money to pay for his food. He knows there’s less money on his debit card, his paycheck not coming until Friday. 

“There was literally money on it yesterday,” he says with a hard voice, trying to reason with her, see if she’s missing something. 

“Sorry, man, it says thirty cents, I swear.” 

God, is she gonna make him put it all back? What does Hunk think? How does a college junior not have enough money to pay for his (outrageously priced) lunch? Fuck. He should just call it quits and book it out of here. Then he debates the merits of stealing the food for a second before he realizes he really doesn’t need another delinquency mark on his school record. Also, Hunk shouldn’t be a witness to that ridiculous shit. He can’t bare to look at Hunk, or anyone. “I’m… Fuck. So sorry. I’ll just—" 

“Hey, I got it. Stupid cards used to do that to me, too. Probably demagnetized,” Hunk says, stepping forward and pressing his card into the cashiers hand as Keith stands immobilized. Frozen solid, feeling like he’s gonna barf. 

“Hunk, no, it’s fine. You really don’t have to,” he says, gripping his coat sleeve almost pleadingly. God, this whole thing is embarrassing. 

Hunk just shrugs and gives him a bright smile as the cashier hands him his card back. Keith lets his sleeve go uncomprehendingly. He can’t believe Hunk just swooped in and bought his lunch. 

“Nah, it’s really okay. I promise,” Hunk says, handing Keith his tea bottle when he doesn’t take it. He jerks his chin over his shoulder, still carrying that ease about him like it really wasn’t a big deal. “Let’s go find a spot.” 

Keith gulps. He sees the cashier giving him a sympathetic look but he can’t look at her directly, mumbling a grudging, “Thanks,” as he takes his food and follows Hunk like a puppy with their tail between its legs. 

“Seriously, Keith, stuff happens like that all the time,” Hunk says when he catches up to him. “It’s really fine. I don’t mind at all. Also, she should have just given it to you, honestly, it’s a piece of pizza...” 

“But… you shouldn’t have to pay for me…,” Keith weakly argues, knowing how pitiable the whole situation is already—even though Hunk is leagues better than anyone on earth should be—he is thankful that he spared him the embarrassment of not having a lunch at all. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.” 

“Yeah, anytime,” Hunk says, and Keith’s brow raises at that. Hunk clears his throat before the silence stretches too long, turning away before Keith can look at his face. “Oh, there’s a spot. So many people here…” 

They sit down across each other at the little two-person table, the only one not occupied in the whole food court, and Hunk uses a napkin to wipe the table clean of crumbs before putting his pizza box down. Keith wouldn’t have had the forethought, but he supposes it is pretty gross to be eating on other people’s leavings. 

Too choked up and humiliated, Keith stares down at his pizza and tea as he eats, but Hunk has an effortless ability to fill in the silence between them even as the food court buzzes around them. “So, the same thing happened to my roommate in freshman year, okay. Except he tried to flirt his way out of it, with some guy who was totally straight and not into it at all, but dang, he tried. He really did,” Hunk says with a laugh, shaking his head and adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Keith smiles as he listens but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Of course, he failed to mention how he wasted all his money on Gatorade and peach rings. Oh, also Muscle Milk. Like? Why?” Hunk splays his hand out in disbelief, taking a bite of his pizza. 

“That stuff is so gross, honestly,” Keith says, taking a sip of tea. He tried drinking that stuff when he was gaining muscle a few years ago when he started hormone therapy, but decided that real protein powder in real shakes was better. In several ways. 

“I know! Couldn’t stop him, though. Anyway, he tried flirting with the cashier but he laughed and gave my roommate such a stinky look. But he swears, to this day, that the cashier blushed at him. And that he met him at a party later, but. He’s a known shit-talker,” Hunk chuckles, eating more pizza before taking a sip of his drink.

Keith drinks more tea, humming in response. “Yeah, I know a guy like that. Will flirt with anything on two legs,” he says, but Lance isn’t that desperate, he knows. He just likes to poke fun at him, especially when Lance tried flirting with him in sophomore year. Keith had shot him down with a snarky remark and Lance’s ruffled feathers with him haven’t smoothed over yet, claiming they’re only friends to shove his grades into Keith’s face. Even though Keith’s GPA is better than his. Keith still appreciates Lance even with all his goofy shit. 

“Yeah, my roommate’s pretty outgoing, he does that all the time. It’s just how he is. He has options,” Hunk says, then under his breath, “and he’s way better at it, too.” 

Keith pretends he didn’t hear him. Also pretends his cheeks aren’t still red. Also pretends that his foot under the table wasn’t directly next to Hunk’s before slyly shifting his shoe away. 

They talk about more mundane things, like the time Keith witnessed a girl in full six inch high heels longboarding through the campus green, and Hunk accidentally signing up for a creative writing class in freshman year only for him to realize it was about erotica. Keith had almost choked on his pizza with how hard he laughed. Hunk had covered his face with his hand, pushing up his glasses to his forehead again as he laughed with him. Keith’s heart feels exponentially lighter when he wipes the tears from his eyes. 

He asks Hunk about his internship, chewing on his pizza crust, and Hunk damn near puffs up, even in his half-zipped coat. He tells him excitedly the projects he’s helping on, though he admits he’s the “epitome of those office interns you see in movies.” 

“Seriously, I do coffee errands on the daily. That’s where I see Pidge sometimes at the Lion’s Brew. Weird how I haven’t seen you there yet, until a few days ago,” Hunk says, and the way he looks at Keith makes a shiver run down his spine. Like he’s wondering where he’s been. 

“Yeah, definitely weird,” Keith says weakly, swirling the dregs of his tea absently. “But, you do space stuff, right? The Garrison is, like, almost on par with JPL and NASA.” 

Hunk’s eyes are almost sparkling. “Kind of, it’s mostly working on space and flightcraft and hypothetical models, but there’s a lot of actual space stuff, too. I just haven’t been able to work on it, yet,” he shrugs good naturedly, putting his napkin into the pizza box. “Do you wanna do space stuff?” he smirks, his smile soft and inquisitive as he looks at Keith across the table. 

“Yeah, space stuff. Wanna fly and test the space stuff,” he replies a little abashedly from the attention and revealing what he wants to do with his whole life. Tender, like the music. “I’m looking into an internship there, too. Over the summer. I don’t have the time right now, but…” 

“No way! That’s awesome!” Hunk says excitedly, his exuberance making Keith’s eyes widen momentarily. “There’s so much aerospace stuff you’d find so cool, honestly, there’s a whole building dedicated to it…,” Hunk explains some of their spacecraft projects that he’s picked up from gossip, and helped deliver mail to, assisting in some of the designs and potential fuel requirements and impact on environment and the costs, and… just a whole bunch of stuff. Keith listens raptly, only catching half of it as Hunk goes off on tangents, making sparse comments, watching Hunk’s animated gestures and expressions, committing some to memory. 

_Looking at him with stars in your eyes, Keith,_ he faintly recalls, his brain jumbling Pidge’s words some, but… she’s wrong. He is not. He blinks furiously, collecting their combined garbage to throw away into a nearby trash bin during a pause in Hunk’s storytelling. He argues with himself, telling his brain to cool it, his heart to chill for a goddamn day. Just one day. 

Once he gets back to their table Hunk is patting his pockets and throwing on his backpack in a rush. “I’m so sorry but I’m totally going to be late. I forgot about the time!” Hunk says with a tinge of worry to his voice, zipping up his coat and rifling around to make sure he has everything. 

“Yeah, of course. Don’t be late because of lunch,” Keith says, and simultaneously thanks and curses the universe for its timing, putting his arms through his coat. 

“I—I don’t mind. I mean, I do, but, like… it was fun,” Hunk says, pulling his gloves back on. 

“Yeah, it was,” Keith says, smiling a little, his heart having not received his message. 

“Cool cool cool cool. Uhm. Wednesday? Next week?” Hunk says rapidly but his voice fades, eyes tracking over Keith head to toe, something about his posture hesitant.

Keith has to physically yank his voice from within his chest for a proper response. “Sounds good. Thanks for buying, by the way.” 

“Of course!” Hunk beams at him, walking backwards toward the entrance of the food court and student center. “Good luck on your test tomorrow! Let me know how it goes!” 

God, Keith is not grinning. He isn’t. But he totally is, waving him goodbye. “Don’t be late!” 

“Bye!” Hunk shouts over the commotion, turning and running toward the doors, disappearing past all the students walking around. 

Keith’s still grinning as he throws his backpack over his shoulders, grinning down at his phone as he plugs in his earbuds and finds a playlist littered with new music, grinning as he walks out of the building toward another for his next class. He only stops when he realizes that… Hunk wants to keep ‘tutoring,’ wants to hear about his test. Looks forward to it. That he was almost late to his prestigious internship because he was having lunch with Keith. Lunch that he willfully _bought_. 

He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and someone that was walking behind him grumbles and weaves around him, but he’s unaware. He stares at his boots as thoughts swirl around in his head like a smoothie blender, trying to piece it all together. 

“Holy shit,” he mutters with feeling. 

There’s no way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, uh, that was definitely some self-indulgent good-ness. Also, lots of music talk. Because that stuff is close to my heart :'D 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Seriously, it blows my mind that people like this so far since I don't write fic often. Hardly at all, except for this, which I've been putting quite a bit of energy into lately. So thank you again!! <333


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Shiro hanging out, Keith and Lance hanging out... also just... more Keith losing his marbles over Hunk. Why not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a big chapter of Pining Mess™ Keith, and I promise it'll be the last chunk of introspective bs before the ball really gets rolling ;) 
> 
> Also, Lance makes some touchy comments about Keith and his business (he's nice about it) but, just keep that in mind. He can take some missteps.

**Me [Today 3:10 PM]:**  
Hey i’m pretty sure i passed lots of stuff  
was on it that we covered 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 3:20 PM]: **  
**** I KNOW you passed! You had it in the  
bag the last time we went over the content :) 

********

****

********

********

******Me [Today 3:24 PM]:  
** Thanks. Going over it really helped  


********

********

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 3:25 PM]:**  
I did say you were really smart ;)  
**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 3:25 PM]:**  
At least you don’t freeze up on exams like  
I always do.  
**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 3:26 PM]:**  
Because I freeze up really bad. Like a popsicle.

********** **

**Me [Today 3:28 PM]:**  
No i was definitely a kempswich

********

Shiro snorts as he reads the texts, looking like a giddy middle schooler hearing gossip. Keith smacks his shoulder for it. “You called yourself a Kempswich,” he sniggers and Keith swipes his phone back. 

“That’s not the point! I panicked!” Keith groans, shoving himself back into the worst chair in existence but the only extra one Shiro has in his office. 

“And turned into a Kempswich,” Shiro teases, but Keith lets him have his fun for the moment, knowing this is as much action as he’s getting today between running errands for his grad advisor and grading shit freshman history papers on the Merovingians. After having his good chuckle, though, Shiro quiets and shakes his head, still finding it humorous. “He called you smart, at least.” 

“Yeah, and keeps telling me,” Keith bemoans, looking at his last text message ten minutes ago that Hunk hasn’t replied to. He’s probably busy at the tutoring center helping someone else with their homework, and Keith’s loathe to be a double-texter on the topic of ice cream delicacies. 

“Well, Keith,” Shiro says, flipping through a heavily marked paper on his desk before shoving it aside, turning to him on his swivel chair and putting his ankle up on his knee. Keith hates how his trouser leg pulls up high to show off his socks, black with small white stars on them. Also hates how his nice shirt makes his shoulders broad. Still too handsome. But his voice has that tone that spells out ‘I’m a slightly older adult with some slightly different experiences to help you out’ and Keith grimaces. “How deep do you want to read into this?”

“Deep. But not stupid deep,” he mumbles, closing the app and refreshing it to see if Hunk somehow replied without his phone notifying him. Nope.

“He thinks you’re smart, and you are, so. I don’t know how much deeper we can get,” Shiro says, folding his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. “Would you rather him compliment you on other qualities that he’s noticed? Because calling you smart is a pretty good one.” 

“No, god, Shiro,” Keith scolds him half-heartedly, his blood pressure spiking just thinking about what other things Hunk could compliment him on, knowing that he’d like it too much. “I can’t tell if he’s, like… interested. You know. Because he’s so—so much. Always has something to talk about and I’m just—”

“A Kempswich,” Shiro interjects with a sly smirk. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“A fucking gas station ice cream sandwich, yeah. Also, he dresses too good to be straight. Like you,” Keith says cooly, furrowing his brows in Shiro’s general direction. 

“Yeah, us gays and our nice clothes,” Shiro shakes his head dismissively, twisting side to side. “Don’t think too much about it, Keith, you get stuck in your head too much. But if he said he didn’t mind buying you lunch and that he’d do it again, well… that’s something.” 

Keith glares at him, but then his phone vibrates and he hurriedly unlocks his phone to see. 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 3:42 PM]:**  
The best ones have M &M’s :) 

********

********

Keith groans and drops his head onto the back of the chair, slapping his phone to his thigh defeatedly. “Shiro. Shiro… what do I say…,” he complains, showing Shiro the text.

Some deep, hidden part of Keith is glad that Shiro springs forward with a wide grin cutting across his face as he reads, because at least he isn’t the only one seeing how ridiculously cute Hunk is. 

“He’s right, though,” Shiro replies, crossing his arms. “You could tell him that. More about bakery goods. How that one time your cafe sold some ice cream sandwiches, or something.” 

“But… why does he want to talk about that…,” Keith covers his face with his free hand, frantically rifling for anything to say in response. “Does he like talking to me? What in the fresh hell…” 

“Wow,” Shiro says a moment later, lifting a sharply plucked brow. “You’re really strung up. Haven’t you flirted before? I know you’ve _tried _,” he says, and Keith is too abruptly reminded of his passes on Shiro in high school _and _freshman year that were, admittedly, good. But not well received, clearly. He almost gets whiplash.____

__

“I’m not going to flirt with a straight dude, Shiro. Not worth it,” Keith grunts, putting his ankle up on his knee too as he starts and deletes several responses to Hunk. 

“Well, you won’t know until you try. And, if everything you’ve told me is true and unbiased primary sources, then he’s not straight. Most people aren’t,” Shiro says with conviction, turning toward his desk again to find another student paper to grade. 

“Don’t give me one of your teacher spiels… unbiased...,” Keith mumbles just to be a shit. 

**Me [Today 3:51 PM]:**  
I like memories

********

********

“Oh, fuck you, autocorrect,” Keith growls, pressing his thumbs harder on his phone screen like a barbarian. 

**Me [Today 3:51 PM]:**  
I mean M &M’s. I like M&M’s. Also the  
chocolate chips 

****

“God, I should just crawl into a hole,” Keith sighs, slumping further into the chair as embarrassment drapes over him. He hopes Hunk doesn’t find it stupid, because he totally does.

“Don’t be like Pidge,” Shiro murmurs, writing something onto one of the papers. “She never crawled out. Turned into another Sméagol.” 

Keith hums in affirmation, but he appreciates Sméagol-Pidge. Handy with technology, unlike his stupid phone. He really should replace the cracked screen, though. 

As Shiro grades papers, he scrolls through social media to see what kind of shit he can distract himself with until bowling. Shiro doesn’t complain about his moping presence, his calm, measured breaths and the occasional curse as he reads fills the empty silence. Keith anxiously awaits Hunk’s response, if he ever does. He has homework to do but he can’t be assed to even look at it. 

Then: 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:12 PM]:**  
xD Lol. The cookie has to be soft, though. Too  
crunchy and it falls apart. I’ve had bad experiences :’) 

********

********

“Oh my god…,” Keith whispers under his breath, his heart physically ceasing all functions in his chest. He curls his fingers in his shirt and tugs at the neck of his binder, because Hunk? Too good for this world. How can he ever deal with this?

Shiro makes an inquisitive noise and Keith wordlessly shows him his phone screen. Shiro turns and reads it and a beat later breaks down into giggles like he just saw a hot take on Twitter. It might as well be. Shiro puts his chin into his prosthesis and sits hunched over like that, elbow on his knee, eyes bright and sparkling joyfully. 

“He’s so sweet, Keith,” Shiro says through his persistent giggles, his metal fingers pressing over his mouth. Keith’s cheeks are flushing as red as his Converse and he’s going to pass out. 

“I know. Text him and tell him that I’m dead, because that… I can’t respond to that. I’m such an asshole, Shiro,” Keith laments, but he rereads the text over with the little emojis, his heart doing cartwheels. He has to bite his lip to keep his stupid grin down. 

**Me [Today 4:15 PM]: **  
**** I can imagine. Once i bit into a sandwich  
and the icecream fell out onto my lap  
**Me [Today 4:15 PM]:**  
And then a dog ate it from my hands

********** **

****

********** **

********** **

He’s not quite sure why he tells Hunk that, a memory when he was fourteen and in a foster home with a massive Bernard, a memory so small and mundane. But he does, and he doesn’t regret it completely, just a little. He wonders belatedly how they got so comfortable. Shiro’s mushy face wonders the same thing. 

“Wow,” Shiro repeats, shaking his head fondly. “Yeah. It’s definitely a crush.” 

“Shut up,” Keith barks but he can’t muster the heat behind it. “Get back to doing your job.” 

Shiro shrugs in reply, sitting back in his chair like a normal human being. “This is more interesting, though. I’m sick of reading about Charlemagne and the eighteen different ways these college kids can say he shaped Christianity.” 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Okay, then, I’ll bug you about your crush when you finally get one. Hit me up.” 

“So you admit it? It’s a crush?” Leave it up to Shiro to have pinpoint, deathly accuracy. 

Keith reaches out with his shoe and kicks the armrest of Shiro’s chair for his answer, and Shiro snorts out an ugly laugh. But as much as he’s trying, he can’t hide the smile that fails to leave his mouth. 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:17 PM]:**  
Oh geez! xD xD I’m so sorry the ice cream sandwich  
betrayed you. But dogs are nice. My mom has one  
named Duke. 

********

********

Then after about half a minute of Keith swimming in the rush of feelings that overcome him about Hunk having a dog (a dog!), Hunk sends a picture of him and a big yellow labrador, looking like one of those photoshoots with the painterly backgrounds. It’s kind of… strange, admittedly, because it’s so staged; Hunk in glasses and a nice button up shirt, sitting cross-legged with his arm around his dog next to him looking at the camera. Keith snorts out a laugh.

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:22]:**  
Oh my god. That was the wrong picture to send!  
My roommate took my phone and sent it, I’m so  
sorry for making you see that with your own two eyes 

********

********

Keith bursts out laughing and Shiro damn near steals his phone to see, joining him easily.

“That’s definitely something,” Shiro says, wiping a tear from his eye, handing his phone back. “But, hey, now you can tell him how good he looks, yeah?” 

Keith gapes at him briefly before smashing out a response. 

**Me [Today 4:23 PM]:**  
Don’t worry about it it’s a nice picture. You look nice 

********

********

Shiro has the audacity to high-five him after that. Keith might as well be melting into the chair at this point. It was a risk and he fucking took it. He kind of wants to throw his phone out into the hallway, a window simply too far away in Shiro’s cave-office.

“Smooth, Keith,” Shiro says, “I’d give you a sticker if I had one, but, you know, college.” 

“Yeah, no thanks,” Keith mumbles, pulling up the hood on his sweatshirt underneath his jacket, his stomach twisting into knots.

Several minutes pass and Keith gets out of the chair to stretch his back and shoulders and give his sore ass a break. He paces around the ten feet available in Shiro’s office that isn’t littered with storage boxes and books from other teachers and grad students.

Keith’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he almost jumps to pull it out. 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:30 PM]:**  
Thanks :) It’s three years old and Duke’s like ancient.  
**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:30 PM]:**  
Here’s another picture so you can erase that monstrosity  
from your memory 

********** **

********** **

Hunk sends another picture of Duke laying out in a beam of sunlight in front of a porch door on a woven rug, his tongue flopping out, his eyes half lidded. Keith’s heart expands about eight times its size. He misses dogs so much. 

**Me [Today 4:31 PM]:**  
He’s really soaking up that sun B) 

********

********

Keith flops back into the chair and moons over Hunk’s dog, sharing stories of the same Bernard he essentially grew up with, having been a very lucky foster child to stay in the same home until he was eighteen. But he doesn’t share that part, just Ham. How he bowled Keith over on more than one occasion and when Keith would scratch his butt just right he’d thump his back foot, every time.

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:48 PM]:**  
Ham?  <<

********

********

**Me [Today 4:48 PM]:**  
Short for Hamish. I didn’t name him 

********

********

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 4:49 PM]:**  
I love that B) 

********

********

“Okay, stop swooning over Hunk, Keith. I have a night class to teach and I can’t leave you in here. Besides, don’t you have bowling to go to?” Shiro asks, packing up his papers and putting his school-issued laptop into his bag. Keith does the same with the one notebook he had pulled out and never looked at, seeing that Hunk had sent a very similar text asking if Keith had class. He tries not to think about how Hunk remembers that. 

“Yeah, yeah. S’not like I care, though. It’s just bowling,” he says. Most people in the class show up because attendance is actually recorded but tardiness? No way. 

“Bowling that you paid five hundred dollars for. Get out of my office,” Shiro says but there’s no urgency behind his voice, just fond exasperation. Before he turns to go, Shiro reaches out and squeezes his shoulder in a sudden intimate gesture, friendly and assuring, smiling at him wordlessly. Keith smiles back and pats his hand, knowing what he means without having to give him a response, just before playfully shoving his hand off him. 

“Okay, Mr. Shirogane,” Keith snarks lightly, tucking his phone away and throwing his backpack on. 

Keith’s phone buzzes on and off through bowling, and in between turns he sits at the tables and replies. Somehow, even though he’s thoroughly distracted, he racks up a score of 240, the best he’s done all semester so far. Keith takes a picture of the screen before walking home and sends it off to Hunk without explanation. 

**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 6:22 PM]:**  
!!!!!!!  
**Hunk, Tutor GUy [Today 6:23 PM]:**  
God you’re even good at bowling wth 

Keith may or may not walk with a little bounce in his step. 

\---------

In lab on Friday, and as usual since their other classmates are too pretentious, Lance is his partner. It’s kind of unspoken at this point that they’re always going to be lab partners in whatever class they take together, which Keith furiously refuses to admit. Lance doesn’t either, so that’s validated. Still. Sometimes Keith wishes he was less of an idiot. 

Lance keeps dropping his pencil and Keith’s reminded him like eight times by now to write down their recordings. He’s _this _close to biting his head off, but Lance is off somewhere else, checking his phone and grinning at whatever texts he’s receiving. They have an hour left and they’re further behind than Keith knows they should be.__

____

____

“Lance. I swear to god. Please… can we get this done today? I’d rather not come back on Monday to do this simple shit,” Keith says as levelly as he can, belatedly noticing he’s gripping his pen in his fist. Lance really knows how to test his patience sometimes. 

“Huh? Yeah, no, I want to get this done, too,” he perks up, eyeing around for the screen he’s supposed to be looking at. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“You’re never this air-headed. Did you get laid or something?” He says snidely, aggressively hitting the computer mouse to adjust their flight path for their prototype. Lance makes an obnoxious raspberry noise after a long beat of silence and Keith narrows his eyes at the screen. “Are you high? God.”

“No! Who do you think I am, Keith?” Lance shoves his shoulder, finally scribbling the statistics down. “And, for your information, I did get laid. Really well. Like, stupendous, interstellar--”

“I really don’t want to hear it, thanks,” Keith cuts him off swiftly before he can get into a longer list of ‘incredible’ synonyms. 

“You asked, man. No lies here,” Lance says with a rippling chuckle, leaning back in his chair with a pleased grin. Keith sighs heavily and actually smacks his forehead with his palm.

“Will you focus? You’ll see Allura later,” Keith tries desperately to reason, taking Lance’s lab manual himself and seeing that he’s scribbled stars into the margins. He’s hopeless. 

Lance puts his ankle onto his knee and grins toward the ceiling, lost on some cloud nine, on some love highway or whatever bullshit. Keith buckles down and absolves to finish the lab himself and put his name over all of it so he gets the credit instead of his besotted friend. A small voice tells him he wouldn’t do that, though.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just… it was so good. And it’s been so long, we’ve been busy with school, you know? And she’s working all the time, I’m working all the time… our schedules finally lined up,” Lance explains needlessly. “Can’t you let me enjoy the memories? Keith? Have some sympathy.” 

“I have no sympathy when we’re in _lab _, Lance,” Keith retorts hotly, writing down their readings perhaps a bit too hard.__

____

____

He’s busy ignoring the jealousy swelling in his chest and pretending that he is 100% mad at him, when honestly? He knows exactly what he means. It’s been… goddamn ages. Since _anything_. And he’s mad at himself for getting so hot under the collar just thinking about it. 

He’s always been a horrible liar, though. 

“Keith, buddy, your face is red. Whatcha thinkin’ about, huh?” Lance, the bastard, leans forward and nudges Keith’s shoulder with his own. Keith knows he’s smirking deviously at him but he refuses, adamantly refuses, to give him the satisfaction of looking. 

“I’m thinking about _math _, dipshit,” Keith snaps but it falls entirely short. He writes harder, furrows his brows tight, and tries not to fuck up their prototype on the computer. He’s successful in most ventures except he almost writes a hole into the manual.__

____

____

“Mm, yeah, sure,” Lance hums skeptically, putting his elbow on the table and turning his shoulders toward him, tapping his chin with his finger. “I think that you’re… not thinking about math,” he says. “You’re thinking about how much you’d like some. Getting it. Or, you’re thinking about how that one time in freshman year you almost got it but didn’t at that one party I dragged you to. Because he was an asshole about _things_. In the basement.” 

Oh, god. Why does Lance have to bring up that memory? It’s so embarrassing. Also, if they weren’t such good friends, he would deck him right in the face, right here and now for the mere mention. (If he was still eighteen and not twenty-one he might have.) 

By the way he directs his wide angry eyes onto him Lance immediately retracks, grinning appeasingly and apologetically, waving his hands around. “But not because you weren’t hot! You’re like, stupid hot, okay? Everyone with eyes can see that. But it’s been awhile! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, so dumb of me. But… it _has _been awhile...”__

____

____

“I swear to god…,” Keith snarls and tosses the pen at him instead of his fist, pleased that it smacks him right in the temple. Lance flinches and catches the pen but doesn’t rebuke him, accepting his transgressions on Keith’s past experiences with shitheads who didn’t like who he was. Somewhere deep, Keith knows he didn’t mean it negatively, he’s just a mouthy idiot, but it still sparks a defensive missile—the pen being case and point. “Don’t bring that up. It’s not your business.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m just—Keith. We all need to get laid. Gerold, or Grant or—whoever the fuck over there needs to get laid,” Lance gestures to one of their classmates, and it startles a laugh out of Keith, mostly because the guy’s name is Ben. “He really needs to get laid, seriously. Badly. But like, if he doesn’t want to? Who cares! I don’t! But you, I know you do. You wouldn’t be blushing if you weren’t.”

“I’m not blushing,” Keith argues, snagging his pen back from Lance. He’s right, though. He hates how right he is. It’s been awhile. But that shouldn’t make him so… so… dumb about it. 

“Keith… buddy. I hate to admit it, but you are. Hard. I’ve known you for too long, man,” Lance says, and pulls back to sit up, looking like he’s busy for the twenty seconds it takes the teacher walking around to pass by their computer station, like he’s in high school again. Keith snorts and focuses on the computer screen before Lance distracts them _again _.__

__

__“You’re thinking about someone,” Lance says as soon as the teacher passes, and Keith’s hand jerks the mouse so far off the screen their readings spike. Fuck. Lance’s giggles make his heart nearly jump up into his mouth. “I knew it. I totally knew it. Oh my god, Keith. You’re _thirsting _.”___ _

_____ _

_____ _

Keith fumes internally. This is almost an exact replication of his conversation with Shiro two days ago but just because it’s Lance, his brain’s ready to burst a vein. As Lance laughs to himself in complete and total victory, Keith finds zero fight within himself. It’s not like Lance knows the guy, right? 

Lance waxes poetic about how gorgeous Allura looks in her rugby shorts and knee-high socks every day, her hair, her eyes, all that sappy, mushy boyfriend bullshit almost every time they see each other for classes. Almost harassing him with how good he’s got it with his girlfriend of “one year, eight months and sixteen days,” in Lance’s words last week. And Keith… only has Shiro to expound his thoughts to. Pidge, sometimes, when she’s paying attention when he sees her at work, when they have time between classes. And she’s less receptive than either Shiro or Lance, who’s damn near begging to hear at the moment, staring at him expectantly. Keith feels his eyes on him. 

He’s slowly losing his grip, he swears. 

At Keith’s lack of response, Lance takes it as his cue to keep prodding him. “Who about, huh? Is he cute? Is she cute? Gotta be, if they’ve got your aloof attention,” Lance comments, finally getting back to writing what he’s supposed to. Keith still refuses to look at him. 

He swallows his pride, just for today. “Yeah. He’s cute,” he says coolly, following the directions on the manual begrudgingly even though they’re totally stupid, making his own minor, better adjustments. The admission to someone new makes his heart do jumping jacks in his chest. 

“Ooh,” Lance says, shimmying in his seat with interest. “Like how cute? Okay, okay, let me just—” Lance says, taking a deep breath like this was Official Business, tapping his fingers across his manual. “Let me get this right. You crushed on Shiro, who’s like this big buff guy, total nerd, right? And then that guy in freshman year who was on the swim team and in your anthropology class. _Maybe _the girl who handed you the flier to the multicultural event in our physics lecture sophomore year.”__

____

____

“Are you keeping track? Jesus,” Keith says, making a face at him, but Lance doesn’t see it, determination set on his face. 

“So, you’re into bigger guys. Nerds. I get that. I _know _that. So, lemme guess—this guy is beefy. Buff. Nerd. Total dork, because you notice that shit.”__

____

____

Keith… he’s not even sure he’s reading the screen anymore. Lance… how the fuck… his heart seizes in his chest, stomach falls right out of his ass. How the fuck? Lance claps and rubs his hands together. Keith’s mouth clamps shut, fearful of what else he could say that Lance could see right through like he was a pane of glass. He’s reading him like a book. Keith stares at him in wonderment; angry, confused wonderment.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Lance says giddily. “What department is he in?” 

Keith, the idiot, fails to remember his filter. “Environmental geology. Chemistry. Something.” 

“Real big nerd, then. Wow, Keith, I’m impressed,” Lance pats his shoulder before crossing his arms, tapping his foot consideringly. Keith furrows his brows. Why is he smirking so hard? Is he happy for him? Is he thinking? God forbid. 

“Yeah, he’s… something else,” Keith says cryptically, narrowing his eyes at Lance. 

“Damn,” is all Lance says. Helpful. Crosses his arms tighter.

“What?” Keith snaps.

“Nothing,” Lance says quickly, brow raising higher up his forehead. “Just. Wow. You’re so predictable.” 

Keith punches his shoulder. “Nevermind. Forget I said anything. Stop bugging me and do actual work.” 

“No, no! Tell me about him. How do you even know him?” Lance asks, and his loose posture is… too casual. He’s looking at Keith intermittently, trying hard to look at the manual he stole back from Keith, writing too sloppily. Hm. 

Keith rolls his eyes for the seventh time, wary about telling Lance the origin story of needing a tutor for o-chem, because Lance would love to rub _that _in his face.__

____

____

“It doesn’t matter. I met him. He’s cute, nice, smart,” Keith murmurs with a little sigh, putting his chin in his palm, elbow on the desk. “So smart. And funny. He makes these little bakery items. Wears these nice glasses. Nice clothes. Wore these black jeans this one time and his… his…,” Keith realizes he’s rambling too late, Lance getting within a foot of his personal bubble. Keith leans sideways, pushes his chair away. “Lance, what the fuck—”

“Sorry! You just… you’ve got stars in your eyes,” Lance blurts, grinning ear to ear, his own eyes sparkling. Keith refuses to admit that his cheeks are flaming. “It’s so cute. I’m so happy for you, honestly. He seems really nice just hearing it,” he says genuinely, and yup, Keith’s red, looking away to the other side of the room. “You’re definitely thirsting. I can frickin’ feel it.” 

“So what? Are you going to keep teasing me about it?” Keith bristles, their prototype simulation going haywire on the computer and his mind’s going off into nebulae and constellations to try and fix it properly. 

“Maybe a little,” Lance says softly, and that surprises Keith enough to relax into the seat back. “Only because it’s so cute. So innocent. So tender. Lil’ Keith and his crush—”

Keith punches his shoulder hard enough to veer Lance into the armrest but he’s mostly rubber, anyway, bursting into raucous laughter. Lance rubs the spot before reaching forward and punching Keith’s bicep. 

That’s the second time he’s heard about stars and eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go to your local doctor's office for a teeth cleaning from all that sugary, goopy fluff. Highly recommended. Also... who really is Lance's roommate? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Let me know what you thought about it!! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allergies, man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit of a smaller chapter before another bigger one :>

Every Wednesday, sometimes Tuesdays or Thursdays, Keith and Hunk meet in the library for the next five weeks. Hunk brings snacks with him every time and Keith tries remembering to bring coffee in the mornings, but sometimes he forgets. Hunk’s never upset with him, though, and everyday he beams bright and graces Keith with his humor and wit. Everyday he dresses in a collared shirt, sometimes with jeans, sometimes with sweaters or zip-up hoodies, sometimes sneakers, sometimes his cool Oxford-looking boots. He usually wears his glasses, though Keith was pleased to note that one Tuesday morning Hunk wore his contacts. Keith learned that he does like to present himself, just because he wants to, after teasing him about his ‘nerd clothes.’ Hunk wasn’t put off in the least, and wore a tie with gold stars the next time he saw him. 

Once, on a rare spring thaw kind of day, they went outside to one of the tables in the campus green, the sun shining brightly and more people wearing shorts than they should be when it was only late February. Hunk had lifted his face to the gentle breeze and it brought his hair into messy tufts, one lucky sunbeam hitting his profile just right to outline him in a fine gold, and Keith had pulled his jacket around him tighter to quell the fluttering in his chest. Hunk had touched Keith’s thigh to get his attention to show him a cat video, and his hand lingered, palm broad across the top of his knee. Keith recalled that sensory memory for a week afterwards. 

Keith got his student meal card figured out and insisted on buying Hunk lunch one Wednesday, and the crooked grin that spread across Hunk’s face made a strange curl of pride unravel. In the first week of March, Hunk dared Keith to run through a flock of pigeons on the sidewalk by the library entrance on a Thursday afternoon, and for a split second Keith almost declined. Just the fleeting thought of wanting to hear what Hunk would say, he went and ran through the flock, lifting up the sides of his jacket as the pigeons squawked and chortled indignantly around him. Hunk had laughed so hard his hands were on his knees. When Keith put his hand on his back to make sure he was breathing (it really sounded like he was wheezing), Keith noticed the strength in his back beneath the thin fabric of his windbreaker, shifting through his shoulders as he stood. He couldn’t quite bring his hand away, at least until Hunk took a pigeon feather out of his hair. 

Hunk helps Keith with his homework and studying as midterms come and go, and Keith does what he can to do the same for Hunk with his courses. He reads off notecard after notecard on glaciers and gases and tectonic plate movements, the two of them cramming so much chemistry and math into their skulls. Keith’s still not sure how the inside joke of alkaloids came to be, but it’s hilarious every time Hunk waggles his brows and speaks in a low voice, and Keith answers just the same. 

He gets a B- on his o-chem midterm, and Hunk gets A’s. The system works. 

Shiro teases him less and less about Hunk but Keith still talks about him, and Shiro just gets this soft look on his face that really makes Keith wonder how he isn’t dating anyone yet. On the same token, it makes him appreciate their friendship, since Shiro supports every stupid thing Keith manages to text Hunk back with (mostly). As Keith feels himself slipping further and further into his “sparkly, gooey feelings” (as Shiro so eloquently put it once after reading 60 papers on Martin Luther), Keith’s long-hidden insecurities come to the forefront. 

“Shiro, I don’t think he _knows_ ,” Keith mumbles to him around the straw in his mouth, sitting across from him in the food court Monday a few days after midterms. Shiro chews on his sandwich and raises a brow. Keith lifts his higher, looking sideways, wordlessly shrugging. Shiro gets what he’s saying without having to make him ask. Funny how they’ve always been able to do that. 

“Well… I would assume you’d want him to, right?” Shiro asks softly once he swallows, setting down his sandwich and crumbling his fingers in his napkin. 

“I mean, yeah… I do,” Keith answers, gulping thickly and crossing his arms tight. Shiro told him once long ago to always be his authentic self, way back in his senior year of high school social studies where Shiro helped teach for a semester, and conveniently right around the time Keith had started taking hormone replacement therapy. He had reminded him to be patient when Keith’s body didn’t change overnight, to allow himself some slack, and to just be himself, whoever or however he wanted to be. When Keith had argued that Shiro didn’t know what he was talking about, Shiro quietly told him that he needed to hear the same things when he was eighteen, too. Then he gave Keith well-fitting binders for Christmas and a shaving kit. 

In any case, Keith hasn’t exactly lied to Hunk. But a small, dumb part of Keith tells him that he has been. “I just… I haven’t been there with a girl, and it hasn’t gone well with guys I’ve liked in the past. Besides you, but it was never like _this_. You don’t really count.” 

“Thanks,” Shiro says dryly, but he means it well. 

Keith continues. “You know what I mean. I just… I don’t want it to end badly…,” he trails off, fingering the hem of his sweatshirt sleeve, eyes downcast. His heart hurts just thinking about Hunk rejecting him, pulling a different kind of face that he’s never shown outwardly, twisted in disgust. He’s seen it several times on other people and each time it tore a piece off his heart (even though he was quick to snarl and rebuke them, throwing a fist once or twice, cutting them right out of his life). 

Hypothetically speaking, if Keith ever had the courage to do anything about his feelings for Hunk in the first place. 

“Hey,” Shiro says, pulling Keith out of his musings, hands open and loose on the table. “It’s always nerve-wracking coming out to someone, every time. It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let it stop you from being who you are. And, it seems to me like he isn’t the type, but I also haven’t met him.” 

“No… I don’t think he’s like that…,” Keith admits, perhaps just a little dubiously because there’s no way of actually knowing, and clears his scratchy throat. He sniffles, too, feeling like something’s coming on with the change of season. He twirls an idle finger on the table grain, trying not to think too deeply about Hunk and the possibilities. 

Shiro hums in an odd manner and Keith doesn’t think too deeply about that, either. “Well, do whatever you feel like is best and when. It’s 2018 and he’s an adult in college on a liberal campus,” he shrugs but lends no contest. “You could ease him into the idea if you were really meticulous, but I know you aren’t, usually. You’re more shotgun style.” 

Keith snorts and feels himself smirking, stealing some of Shiro’s pretzels. “That’s probably the hottest thing you’ve ever said about me.” 

The look of surprise on Shiro’s face followed by his bellowing laughter is enough to settle some of Keith’s worries. 

Lance tries getting Keith to come over to watch basketball games on the weekends, or to go to the bars, and Keith declines every time, but Lance doesn’t stop asking him. Keith would rather be at work and hope on the off chance that Hunk comes in again. Keith spends his shifts with Pidge talking about video games and her brother’s research at the Garrison, drinking and making coffee, sometimes meeting up with her in between classes to exchange fist bumps and pirated movies and old music records. 

Keith wonders the last time he enjoyed spring so much, probably not since his senior year of high school. A much smaller, quieter voice wonders the last time he liked someone as much as he likes Hunk. He had liked Shiro, sure, but it wasn’t the same. He was younger, then, different, and the few people who had wandered into his radar had never stayed. Even though he’s scared deep down, dealing with a whole mess of new feelings and shit… he tells that voice to cool it. 

The scratchy throat lingers and increases into a full-on cold a week after midterms. He slept heavily Sunday night after a long shift that took the soul from him, and Monday he almost missed his morning class. Thankfully Hobbs licking his face had woken him up in time to throw on clothes and race to campus. The whole day he was a wreck; forgetting things, sneezing after every time he had to blow his nose, tripping on the uneven pavement, nearly dozing off in several of his classes. As soon as he got home Monday he crawled into bed and Hobbs, like the good cat he is, cuddled up next to him with his small cat body. 

Keith had woken around 8 at night and saw that Hunk had texted him, asking if he’d like to meet up tomorrow, the timestamp saying he sent it at 4. Keith groaned groggily, hating to decline him, but he was anticipating to feel like garbage tomorrow, too, and he didn’t want to get Hunk sick. Keith told him he was ill and that he’d be fine meeting on Wednesday for their usual slot. Hunk sent a string of prayer hand emojis and 100s, hoping he’d get better. Told him to drink orange juice and green tea. Keith sent him several thumbs up emojis in reply. 

Well. Tuesday Keith didn’t go to his classes, or his shift at the cafe. He discovered his cold medications were empty with literal dust bunnies in the containers, his orange juice was gone, and Hobbs had chewed up the last of his tea bags, god only knows how he did it. So, water and sleep it was. 

 

Wednesday Keith wakes up with a pounding headache, sunlight hitting him across the eyes since the window is Hobbs’ favorite spot to birdwatch. Keith pulls himself out of bed and resolves to go to his morning physics theory class only because the teacher is a stickler on attendance, and he also needs the valuable content. Luckily it’s mostly lecture, so he can go in an oversized hoodie, big puffy coat and joggers without anyone knowing he isn’t wearing his binder. 

During the whole lecture his mind is worrying over his tutoring session, already sticky and gross just from being ill but now afraid to turn Hunk down again. He doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s on his deathbed unable to get schoolwork done, but he also doesn’t want to seem like he’s putting Hunk off, because he actually does feel like garbage. His handwriting is slow and loopy, having to reread the teacher’s PowerPoint slides twice to understand them and write them down robotically. He hasn’t taken off his coat, either, and he’s still shivering. 

But, god, just the thought of Hunk seeing him like this is at the top of his No Thanks list. Still, it feels a little strange thinking about skipping out on the tutoring. It’s almost become routine and he’s not sure what to think about it.

 **Me [Today 11:34 AM]:**  
Hey. I’m still sick, so I probably shouldn’t  
meet up today. Don’t want to get you coming  
down with this too  


He shoots off the text just before leaving his lecture to walk home, skipping o-chem for the day in a subtle ‘fuck you’ to Iverson, but also because a nap sounds incredible. Also, fuck bowling.

The wind nearly blows right through him on his trek home, even huddled in his huge coat and several layers. His stomach clenches hungrily but everything hurts his sore throat so he makes a peanut butter sandwich to tide him over until the next time he falls asleep. Professional adulting. 

He lays on the couch and starts playing Diablo III again, Hobbs chirping and meowing at his feet as if asking if he was allowed on his lap. Keith picks him up and holds him to his chest just because he can, burying his nose into his fine black fur until he can’t breathe. He sneezes and Hobbs ears flatten, but it draws a gurgling laugh from Keith. 

Shortly later, his phone buzzes in his jogger pocket: 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 12:01 PM]: **  
**** Oh no! I’m sorry you’re still feeling sick :(  
Did you go to classes today? 

He whines a little dramatically, mostly because he knows exactly what Hunk would say if he told him he skipped o-chem, the good schoolboy nerd that he is. He settles Hobbs in his lap and the cat does a few spins on his legs, kneads bread in his thighs, and curls into a small ball as Keith starts and stops several responses. 

**Me [Today 12:08 PM]:**  
I went to physics theory today… kinda skipped  
o-chem tho :/

 **Hunk ☼ [Today 12:09 PM]:**  
That’s understandable. Don’t sweat it, you should  
definitely rest. Gonna try and get to Act III in  
Diablo today?  >>

Keith grins as he rubs his nose, pleasantly surprised with his answer. So far, he’s only met a handful of people who know what game he’s playing, but Hunk came as a small shock. They only talked about it briefly before, but now Keith tells Hunk what kind of quest he’s on, what his equipment is, and Hunk replies back with interest and curiosity, admitting he hasn’t played much with his roommate. Keith responds back to his texts during dialogue scenes, petting Hobbs when he demands it, and their conversation shifts around to different topics. 

As he sniffles and blows his nose into tissues, accumulating a pile on the other end of the couch, Keith smiles lopsidedly at each text, scoffs at others, and asks himself for the tenth time how he became so comfortable telling Hunk that one time he was 9 and punched a kid for pulling on his hair. He mentioned it was longer then but Hunk didn’t question why, only sent him clapping emojis declaring that the kid he deserved it, and told his own story about how he was bullied as a kid. Keith? Nearly went up in arms. He sent several water gun and knife emojis back and Hunk’s humbled yet clearly laughing response was nearly tangible. 

Sometime later, after Hunk harangued him to eat something (pizza rolls), conversation shifted to Hunk asking him about catching up on o-chem. 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 5:17 PM]:**  
I mean, maybe we could do a comfy study session?  
At my place or yours, since you’re sick. And  
your cat sounds amazing

Keith drops his head onto the back of the couch as he considers it, feeling like he’s standing on the edge of a stereotypical-metaphorical precipice kind of bullshit. He’s not exactly opposed to the idea but it still sends signals blaring, wondering what Hunk is thinking, wondering why he asked. He’s Keith’s tutor but it surely isn’t just about that, right? They’re friends. They talk about stupid stuff all the time, shared viewpoints on their favorite smoothies and movies, bickered over the value of sporks (Hunk loved them, Keith thought they were kind of useless), even shared _music playlists_. Like, that shit is _deep_. 

He knows that Hunk wants to help him, took his current illness into consideration. And, he is excellent at helping Keith do his homework since o-chem has caught up with him before, slapped him across the face with the workload several times. Skipping class today definitely hasn’t helped. His backpack has practically grown eyes and it’s staring at him across the room. 

He could use his same excuse that he doesn’t want to get Hunk sick. He seriously considers it. But, he drank about four gallons of water since getting home, he’s sipping on a glass with some vitamin-C boost powder in it… tomorrow he should be feeling better. Nothing a bit of sprucing up can’t fix. Plus, he kind of wants to show Hunk his record collection. He’s definitely just being paranoid.

 **Me [Today 5:24 PM]:**  
Yeah, that sounds fine with me. I’m not far  
from campus. Hobbs can be a bit of a bastard  
but he generally likes people

 **Hunk ☼ [Today 5:26 PM]:**  
Sweet! I miss cats so much dude it’s insane.  
How do you have one in your student  
housing?  <<

Keith slaps a hand to his face and laughs.

 **Me [Today 5:28 PM]:**  
Illegal cat smuggling

Hunk gently reprimands him for his methods of getting Hobbs in and out of his apartment for the rare vet check-up or RA visit, which is a large cushioned box, but Keith can tell he goes soft when he tells him how he came to have him. Keith found him in a dumpster behind the gas station a few blocks away last year, just a small ball of skinny black kitten with shockingly green emerald eyes. Keith sends him a current picture of his cat, who’s sitting on Keith’s legs curled up like it’s his throne.

 **Me [Today 5:45 PM]:**  
He insists on sitting on my lap every chance he gets

 **Hunk ☼ [Today 5:46 PM]:**  
That is… literally… so adorable :’D Give him  
lots of pets from me pls

Keith swears he doesn’t grin like an idiot, but Hobbs meowing up at him curiously proves to him that he is. Oh, well. Hobb is his only witness. Keith reaches out and pets him, giving him really good scratchin’s behind the ears and under his chin, feeling his instant purr rumbling against his fingers like a mini motor. 

“That’s from Hunk. No, not from me. No, Hobbs—” Keith chuckles as Hobbs insistently bumps his head against his retreating knuckles, stretching his claws out happily. “Alright, alright, so needy…,” he hums and keeps petting him with his right hand as he types with his left.

 **Me [Today 5:50 PM]:**  
You gotta get right underneath his chin next to his collar. Fav spot

 **Hunk ☼ [Today 5:50 PM]:**  
✔ Noted B)

They talk a little more, Hunk asks Keith for help on some of his homework, Keith plays Diablo and Hobbs naps. Slowly, after resolving to clean up his sink full of dishes in the morning before Hunk comes over tomorrow, Keith makes his way to his bed, Hobbs trotting behind on his heels. He texts Hunk his address and apartment number in the dark of his room, and Hunk sends him several star emojis with a sparkling heart thrown in (probably accidentally) and a boisterous ‘Thanks!!!!!’ 

Keith smiles, rereads that text message a few times, and relieves some of the pressure on himself in a sleepy spell of blooming hope, optimistic that Hunk really is a good guy. That he wouldn’t think Keith is a liar. That he might not be straight. 

Shortly later, Hunk sends him a picture of a plate of mashed potatoes, veggies and chicken nuggets, his big hand in an ‘okay’ gesture off to the side. The caption underneath the photo is written like a Chopped menu and Keith has to roll his grinning face into his pillow to get his shit together. This boy. 

Yeah. He really likes him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're both music and cat nerds... it's perfect. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know ya thoughts :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They play Diablo III. Get some homework done. And Keith becomes a bit more familiar about hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I've been so excited to post this chapter since writing it! It just... appeals to me :'D 
> 
> Seventh chapter in and I haven't recommended any songs?! I think while writing this chapter I listened a lot to the namesake of this whole thing, [Down the Line by the Beach Fossils](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdfjCivNxGY). Also, [Vacation by Florist](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=46On2L9t03o) and [So Free by the Bahamas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2_km4iT--XU) (Which, sidenote, has an interesting commentary on the damages of white privilege. Good song, too). I'll probably have more in later chapters because uhhh I'm supes into music and enjoy writing it in to my stories :'> There's no pressing need to listen to them, though. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!!

Keith finally pulls himself out of bed after hitting the snooze three times, giving him fifteen more minutes to get his brain functioning up to par to open his eyes. Hobbs’ insistence helps, too, his meowing and general knocking stuff over on his dresser waking Keith up enough to forego a fourth snooze. He feeds Hobbs breakfast, body feeling heavy and sticky from his fever dreams, throat still dry but not sore and… no headache? He should be feeling better, even if his chest feels a bit congested. He swallows his irritation with his immune system for letting him down now of all times, since he usually doesn’t get sick often. 

Keith glugs a glass of orange juice and uses the empty container to shoot a three-pointer into the box of recycling, then takes his towel with him to hop into the shower. He thoroughly scrubs every inch of his body to get the sick feeling off himself, and uses his fancy minty face wash Lance forced onto him once for a Christmas present. He actually really likes it, but uses it only occasionally to save it. He’ll never tell Lance that, though. 

Keith dresses and wears his favorite binder, not sure if the ‘tutoring at home’ situation calls for jeans or joggers… as he decides he does a quick sweep of his apartment to tidy up, folding blankets and tossing away trash and gathering cups and bowls to wash. He throws on his ‘public’ joggers, not completely worn out and fitting him better than his other pairs, and a longsleeve band t-shirt Shiro got him a few weeks ago when he went to a concert in the city. 

Since student housing doesn’t provide a godforsaken dishwasher, he washes his dishes by hand, but some he has to leave for later to quickly clean up Hobbs’ litterbox and take out the trash so he doesn’t look like a complete degenerate. He had planned on running to the gas station to pick up snacks because he has chili cheese Fritos and a box of Goldfish on hand, and that’s about it. He groans internally, knowing exactly what kind of Things Hunk might say about his food choices, but he’ll deal with that when he comes over. 

Just as he’s lighting the last nice-smelling candle he owns (about two years old by now and pulled out from the depths of his dresser), Hunk knocks on his door. 

“Fuck,” Keith says under his breath, quickly checking his face and adjusting his shirt in the mirror in the bathroom, taking a few deep breaths, his heart feeling like it’s going to pop out of his mouth. 

“Hey, man!” Hunk says brightly with a broad grin as soon as Keith unlocks and pulls the door open. 

“Hey,” Keith wheezes out, chest feeling more clogged up now that his binder is cinching him in. Also, Hunk’s arms are spilling in bags and books. What the fuck. 

“I hope you’re feeling better today. Thought I’d, uh,” Hunk says, cheeks flushing in the light of the hallway, lifting up a convenience store bag in a placating gesture. “Bring some stuff,” Hunk finishes with an airy laugh. Keith drags his eyes away from his half fogged-up glasses to the bag, seeing a label for cough drops through the plastic. 

“Oh,” Keith says dumbly, and stares at the bag and the other one Hunk has looped around his fist. Staring like a dipshit as Hunk stands in the hallway, completely at a loss since Hunk brought him _cough drops_. Jesus. “Come in, sorry,” he mumbles, flushing in embarrassment as he holds the door open and steps back to let Hunk inside. 

“Oh! Hello!” Hunk expounds, and Keith swings around to see Hobbs standing stock-still halfway into the living room, tail straight up. “Is that Hobbs? Oh, man, he’s even cuter in real life.” 

Hunk toes off his Chucks and Keith takes the bags away from him, one ear pricked and eyes on the back of his head as he brings them into the kitchen, Hunk crouching and holding out a hand. “You weren’t lying when you said he was tiny. His tail is like half his body length,” Hunk says and giggles, and Keith swears he’s never seen anyone as big and tall as Hunk look so adorable trying to pet a cat. Still, Keith knows Hobbs, so he sets the bags on the counter and comes over to stare his cat son into submission, arms crossed with a crooked frown on his face.

“Will you let me pet you? Have you sniffed enough, ‘lil dude?” Hunk coos in a new voice Keith hasn’t heard but would love to hear again, stretching his fingers out to try and pet right underneath his chin, but Hobbs pulls back, ears flattened. 

“Ooh, he’s not quite done yet,” Keith says. “Told you, he’s weird with new people. Took four times for my lab partner to come over and Hobbs finally sat next to him. He’ll just—” Keith explained, only to watch Hobbs jut forward and take one of Hunk’s thick fingers into his mouth, not clamping down at all, but his tail gets all bushy and a paw comes up to claw into the back of his hand. 

Hunk, though, just makes a small ‘ouch!’ noise and waits for Hobbs to release him shortly later, spinning around and bolting off into Keith’s room. Hunk raises his brow but his smile looks pleased, even, wiping his hand off on his jeans and standing up, readjusting his stack of books in his other arm. 

All Keith could do was stare in shock where Hobbs had disappeared, and then at Hunk, who was just as satisfied as could be. “It’s fine, I’m surprised he stuck around, cats usually flee at the sight of me,” Hunk says on the tail end of a chuckle, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, eyes warm as he looks at Keith. 

“I like your place, though. Nice Star Wars posters,” he comments, gesturing vaguely to the vintage 1977 version of A New Hope hanging by the T.V., lit up by the Christmas lights Pidge got for him in freshman year for his dorm. 

Keith swallows thickly, looking away to hide his reddened face. It’s so much to process at once; the complete ease Hunk had with Hobbs trying to eat him, the compliment. He’s so screwed. He’s in it so deep. 

“Thanks,” he says in a quiet voice, walking further into the apartment and letting Hunk follow him. “You didn’t have to get me cough drops, though…” 

“Oh, yeah! Okay, so,” Hunk says, putting his books on the counter and taking off his jacket to hang next to Keith’s on the hook by the door, backpack at his feet. “I got those, I got some tea because I kinda have a super special secret recipe that practically cures anything, I swear, and like, if it’s cool, I could make you some?” Hunk rattles off, sidling up next to Keith at the counter and pulling out the items “I also got these caramel candies because I love those when I’m sick, and my brother does, too. Also some minty ones, because why not. Uhm… some orange juice, an extra bottle of vitamins my mom gave me, some organic cough drops my roommates girlfriend insists works every time…”

Keith lost it at the vitamins. 

He lets out incredulous peals of laughter as Hunk continues pulling things out, covering his eyes and leaning against the counter. Keith can’t stop giggling, something to do with his nerves and the completely full bottle of brightly colored chewy gummy bear vitamins, heart doing funny things in his chest. “You’re so… so much… extra…,” he wheezes out, wiping his eyes. 

He peeks his eyes up to see Hunk watching him, a crooked smile on his face and looking a little sheepish, but he knocks shoulders with Keith, his laughter finally dying down.

“Hey, I was worried about you, man. You don’t seem like the type to skip class so easily. And we’ve been… meeting up every week,” Hunk’s voice is even, quiet, and Keith finally figures out the inches between them in height is roughly four, now that they’re standing so close. 

Hunk’s cologne is so familiar but it still sends Keith’s senses sizzling and glittering all at once. His skin tingles along his arm, shoots in sparks down his spine when Hunk wraps a hand around his shoulder, palm warm and _lingering_. Always lingering. 

Then he says, in a soft, close kind of voice that appeals to so many things inside of Keith, “Let me make you tea?”

Keith, breathless and still looking up at him, just nods. His words would come out jilted and horrendous if he let them escape, so he says nothing, and gets out the dusty tea kettle from the cabinet, Hunk’s hand slipping down the back of his arm. 

As well-mannered as Hunk is, he doesn’t comment on the clean-yet-dirty dishes in the sink, or the specks of crumbs on the counter Keith forgot to wipe off, making quick work of boiling the water as Keith gets his backpack from his room, bringing Hunk’s over too. He sets them both by the couch to go to his record player off to the side, smirking as he thumbs through the old milk crate holding his collection, trying to find the perfect one. 

Hunk mumbles things to himself across the small kitchen island, clinking spoons in mugs, telling Keith he likes his mismatched Goodwill dish sets. “Very… unique,” he says like a connoisseur of dishware and it makes Keith snort. Hunk insists on drinking out of the dragon mug, leaving Keith’s a surprise. 

“Dylan sound good to you?” Keith asks, holding up an old Bob Dylan record he’s had for a very long time. The record sheath is cottony on the edges and much of the album image worn off, but Mr. Dylan’s face still has the curly mustache Keith drew on him when he was 6. 

“The times indeed are a-changin’,” Hunk says but doesn’t look over his shoulder yet, and when he does, seeing Keith kneeling by his record stand, he damn near drops the mugs. “Keith! _Keith!_ ” 

“Is that a yes?” Keith smirks smugly, flicking the switch on the turntable, his thrifted stereo system clicking on and humming to life, and very gingerly pulls out the record, holding it on it’s edges as he places it on. 

“Is that—is that—holy what! You have a record player! A collection!” Hunk damn near shouts, excitedly setting the mugs on the coffee table and rubbing his palms together close to his chest as he comes up next to Keith and peers around his set up. “Oh my god, who are you? You’re like—like… the coolest, what the hell, man, I can’t believe…” 

“It’s vintage. At least the player is,” Keith says, and it could be considered bragging, but he can’t help it when Hunk’s losing his mind over it like he hoped he would. _The tables have been turned_ , he thinks, and snorts at the pun. 

“Can I look? Please? I’ll promise to be careful,” Hunk weedles, lip pouted adorably, and there’s no force in hell that would make him say no. 

“Sure. But no fingerprints,” Keith stipulates with a raised brow and a playful smirk, the turntable the only possession he’ll ever own that he keeps the utmost care of, besides Hobbs. He places the needle onto the record and it shortly starts playing, and he leaves Hunk to it to sit on the couch. 

He stretches his back and shoulders while Hunk isn’t looking, coughing productively and taking in breaths. He’s fine, but everything’s too tight. His shoulders are already sore and it hasn’t even been an hour yet. Rather than worrying about it like a smart person, he leans forward and takes the mug Hunk had gotten for him, one embellished with the date of someone’s wedding in 1982 in Texas with a flaming cowboy hat. Pidge had graciously “left it at his place” even though Keith had never seen it before in his life. He’s almost certain the mug is some sort of charm. 

He shakes his head and grins, then takes a sip of the gently steaming, aromatic tea, and instantly his insides are soothed, he’s in a spa on a mountainside, he’s got a face mask on and he’s floating in a bath of cinnamon, chicory, honey and chamomile and lemon. It’s divine. 

“Wow,” he says to himself, holding the warm mug between his hands as he leans back, taking another gratuitous sip. Hunk ooh’s and aww’s to his left, kneeling on the floor to peer through the milk crate. 

“Keith, this is the best album known to mankind,” Hunk says with utter conviction, holding a newer record aloft, face hilariously serious until he sees Keith drinking the tea, then he smiles brightly. “Do you like it?” God, he sounds so adorably hopeful, fingers tapping over his thigh. 

“I really do,” Keith replies, clearing his throat before taking another sip. Hunk nods to himself and goes back to sifting, grin still on his face. 

While Keith drinks the tea, Hobbs meanders out of his room and appears next to Hunk, tail curled at the end. Keith watches silently as his cat sniffs Hunk’s socks, his sweatshirt, and quietly pads around his back to put his front paws up on the top lip of the crate. 

“Oh, hey, buddy,” Hunk says to him, Hobbs dipping his head down to smell the dusty records for the hundredth time. Keith watches as Hunk tentatively brings his knuckles up for Hobbs to sniff too, and he does, tail twitching curiously, then lets Hunk rub his cheek. Keith can’t see Hunk’s face but he can see where he scratches right up around Hobbs’ collar like he told him to, murmuring things to him, then pets down his back and up his tail. 

Accepted. 

Keith’s stupid little heart combusts. 

“That was fast,” Hunk says in wonder as Hobbs rubs his face all over his hand enthusiastically, chuckling. “He’s _literally_ purring right now, Keith. I am the cat whisperer. He’s so cute, oh my god.” 

Keith supposes there’s something to be said about a crush loving up on a cat, but he has not the words for it. It’s a small marvel, and it’s happening in his living room. The little voice in his head says he wouldn’t mind several more marvels to happen. 

He is inclined to agree. 

Hunk asks if he can pick the next record and Keith lets him. Happily, Hunk picks himself off the floor, setting the record off to the side once the current one finishes, Hobbs meowing way up at him. “Yeah, Hobbs? What’s on your mind?” he asks, and Hobbs chirps. “Me too, I knew it was a good one.” 

“Hobbs speaks in riddles,” Keith says as Hunk steps around his knees to sit on the other side of him on the couch. Hunk bursts out into giggles as he picks up his own significantly cooler mug and drinks. 

“Does he? Well, I’m also a riddle-solver mastermind kind of guy,” Hunk says with utter conviction behind the lip of his purple dragon mug. 

“Oh, are you?” Keith humors him, sitting up and reaching for his backpack, their knees brushing. Such small contact has his stomach turning into gooey knots. 

“Yeah. Wanna hear one?”

“Hit me.”

“What must take a bow before it can speak?” Hunk asks, narrowing his eyes in Keith’s direction as he reaches into his own backpack, pulling out his binder and textbook.

Keith thinks for a moment, knowing he’s right garbage at riddles, but he can’t give in to Hunk just yet. He glances over at Hobbs, who’s currently cleaning off his paw and face. “Ask Hobbs. He knows.” 

“I’m asking you,” Hunk grins, nudging Keith’s arm with his elbow. 

“Hobbs speaks riddles, I don’t understand them,” he quips back, shaking his head and picking up his laptop off the coffee table, which he pulls closer so they have a surface to work on if need be. Hunk throws his head back with a fake groan. 

“It’s so easy. Guess.” Hunk repeats the riddle, twirling his pizza pen between his first two fingers. 

“Uh. A really talented dog,” Keith says the first thing that comes up, and the two of them burst out laughing. 

“That’s a good one, but it’s a violin. The violinist bows before they start to play. My older sister gave me a book of riddles when I was, like, eight,” Hunk admits with a shrug. “I’d love to see a dog bow, though.” 

 

Keith didn’t think they’d actually get work done, but they do. He finds the content he missed on the school’s online pages from his teachers, and quickly finds out Iverson is more of a douche canoe than he thought possible. Iverson expects a massive assignment with a billion questions due literally tomorrow with a quiz piled on top of it all. Keith’s life flashes before his eyes, and even though he’s technically taken the course once before, Iverson stepped up his fucking game while Keith wasn’t looking.

Luckily, Hunk takes his time explaining the concepts to Keith since he missed the lesson yesterday, and it’s probably a better explanation than Iverson would have provided. Keith gives Hunk the last few pages of his sketchbook to let him write shit down for him, easy memorization tactics and pictures and models. They go through each question for the assignment together, sitting close together and hunched over the coffee table. Hunk makes more tea, teases Keith about his Frito selection and gasps dramatically at the sad state of his fridge. 

“How do you live? I freak out when I don’t have any eggs, man,” Hunk says, his light tone diminishing the reprimand. 

“Shit, I should put those on my list,” Keith replies distractedly as he writes, pen flying over the page. He sets the pen down to smirk deviously at Hunk over his shoulder, “also some of those seaweed snacks.” 

“Ugh!” Hunk scoffs, leaving his nosy escapades into the fridge to mix honey into the steeping tea. “I have no idea how you eat those.” 

“They’re good!” 

“Yeah, if you’re a sea lion!” 

Keith laughs as he continues the o-chem assignment, responding back lowly, mostly to himself, “Who says I’m not?” 

“Get back to work,” Hunk hears him and snarks back, his laughter rippling through the false threat, carrying the mugs over. He makes a point to be as obnoxious as possible walking around Keith’s knees to sit down. Keith slaps his leg as soon as he does, taking the mug from him haughtily. 

Keith makes a frozen pizza for lunch, and Hunk—already flummoxed and nearly offended on his behalf that Keith doesn’t have a dishwasher—bemoans his lack of a full-size oven, too. Luckily, Keith has a pizza oven that works just as well if not better to make the item such a contraption was made for. 

“It’s like they’re _trying_ to make college kids be the stereotypical ‘college kid.’ Forcing them to make ramen and noodles in coffee-makers. It doesn’t make any sense! If you want someone to make food for themselves, be adults, you gotta give them an oven. And a dishwasher!” Hunk complains, waving his pizza crust around, and Keith looks at him with amusement because the guy is actually offended on his behalf.

“I have a hot plate,” Keith offers around his bite of pepperoni pizza. 

“Thank god, at least you’re somewhat civilized,” Hunk says with less heat, nudging their elbows together. 

“That is a high compliment, thank you,” Keith replies, taking Hunk’s emptied plate and dropping his hand onto his knee, using it purposefully to push himself up to stand, even squeezes it a little. It’s so high school, but it has his heart jumping and twirling. He feels Hunk’s eyes on him as he goes into the kitchen. 

After eating, Keith feels the lack of caffeine in his system as he yawns more, stretching out his back and shoulders, coughing and taking deeper breaths. He knows he has to take off his binder, it’s been way too long with his chest so congested from his cold, but Hunk… his stomach almost drops out of his ass when he remembers his conversation with Shiro a few days ago. _You could ease him into the idea if you were really meticulous, but I know you aren’t, usually. You’re more shotgun style._

It’s not that big of a deal. It’s who he is. 

But it’s still kind of terrifying. 

“Hey, man, are you alright? You’ve been stretching a lot,” Hunk asks during a lull in conversation and schoolwork, looking at him through the corner of his eye as he writes in his notebook on the coffee table. “If you’re getting sleepy, we can do this another time…?” 

“No, I’m fine. I just…,” he sighs, rubs his lips together, tugs on the strings of his joggers. A shotgun. He’s a goddamn shotgun. “Mind if I take my binder off?” 

Hunk writes some more, and Keith watches every nuance in body language and facial movement for anything. Hunk’s mouth slowly pulls into a smile, one that’s incredulous, even amused. 

“Your binder? You don’t have one,” Hunk says, nodding to his bright yellow dictionary-size binder on the table, then looks up at him briefly, pushing up his glasses. 

Keith sees the realization click a moment later and Hunk’s smile falters, his cheeks flushing, looking admonished for a few beats. Hunk blinks and rubs the back of his head, gaze sweeping elsewhere a tad erratically. “Oh, yeah! Of course, Keith. Do… do whatever you need, man. Don’t let me stop you. It’s cool. Totally cool. _Completely_. Only if you want—“

“Hunk,” Keith says, anticipating a rambling monologue about how cool it is, but it’s not even remotely annoying. He’s too relieved to care, biting his lip to keep his grin down. “Thanks.” 

“Y-yeah,” Hunk breathes out, and watches Keith past the frame of his glasses as he stands up, just before whipping his head back down to his homework. 

“Be right back,” he says quietly, and as soon as he goes Hobbs takes his vacated spot. 

Holy shit. That… that went way easier than expected. He thought Hunk would be weirded out, at the very least, with the new change of perspective. But it was just… _that_. Simple. Hunk rambling was to be anticipated but even that was a normal Hunk reaction. Keith can’t stop grinning as he pulls his shirt over his head and then his offending binder, breathing the biggest sigh of relief. 

When he comes back in his same shirt but wearing a cardigan over it, Hobbs is sitting right on Hunk’s lap, purring up a storm and loving all the attention. Hunk, though, looks deep in thought, staring intently at his notebook on his knees but obviously not reading anything. Keith sits down next to him, leaving a few inches of space between them, frantically turning and tossing his thoughts over and over, pulling his cardigan close. 

“Keith?” Hunk says, his right hand petting down Hobbs’ back but his other lifts up to run through his hair. “I just, uhm. I’m sorry if I ever made you, like, uncomfortable. For anything. Just… tell me if I ever do or say some stupid things, okay? Like, really. Tell me straight up. This is me telling you it’s okay to deck me in the face if I ever did.” 

Keith’s blood thaws. He lets out a pent up breath with much more ease, and lays a hand on his knee, mouth twitching up in a small smile. “Hunk, you’ve been fine. I don’t want to punch you. I never have,” he says, and if that wasn’t a declaration in his eyes for literally the coolest response ever, he doesn’t know what is (at least, in so few words). He moves his hand to scratch right underneath Hobbs’ chin vigorously, his own cheeks red and hot. 

Hunk lets out his own breath in a long sigh, seeming to deflate with it and mold into the couch, a grin coming up on his face that’s so genuine and sweet Keith’s glad he’s not on his feet. “Cool, because I would pay money to bet you throw a mean hook.” 

Keith chuckles and nods. “You’ve got me there.” 

Hunk picks out another record and they do more homework, Keith does his quiz online and gets 89/100, which is pretty damn stellar in his book. Hunk makes them both more tea and plays with Hobbs and his feathery mice, still as funny and charming as he’s always been. Nothing’s really change except Keith’s astronomically more comfortable curled up on the couch as he laughs, watching Hobbs do flips in the air. Once they’ve called it quits on the homework and sciencing, they play Diablo, and Keith helps Hunk set up his character. 

To his surprise, Hunk goes with the Wizard, instead of the Barbarian or Berserker like he thought he would. “They’re so over-powered, though,” Keith weakly argues, propping his feet up on his coffee table over the remainders of his o-chem notes, loading the current section of his campaign for Hunk to hop in on. 

“But those spells are really cool. Plus I can blast things at a distance. We’ll see who’s really the over-powered one,” Hunk says smugly, leaning back in the couch, controller in hand, the two of them touching from knee to shoulder in a neat bend. Discreetly, Keith leans his weight into his side, Hunk so warm and soft yet unyielding, secure. 

It’s so unexpectedly yet expectedly nice, Hunk smiling and smelling so good. A part of Keith wonders why he was ever scared in the first place, because every new thing about Hunk—about this, whatever it is—makes his toes curl delightedly, stomach shudder in anticipation, wondering if it’s too much. Too soon. Yet nothing about Hunk tells him otherwise. He seems to welcome his weight, even angling back toward him, his gaze lingering and drifting over his face as Keith talks in cut-scenes of the game, intently listening, laughing unexpectedly to the way he says things. 

They sit like that for a long time playing the video game, Keith telling Hunk some of the lore and extra story bits that they can skip, leading him around the maps and temples, the two of them slaying monsters and making fun of the stupid parts. Hunk ends up being awesome at Diablo, dodging attacks and mowing down enemies with his energy beams, and Keith fights wildly to keep up. 

Hobbs makes himself snug to Keith’s left, curled up against his thigh, and Keith feels like he’s wrapped up in warmth. The shades are open but it seems like they’re in a different place, like his small apartment has been turned from boring and grey to something comfortable, lively yet diluted, late afternoon sunbeams crossing in arcs down the postered walls, a slow acoustic record spinning. 

It’s no wonder his eyes start drifting closed some time later. Hunk carries on the campaign without much complaint until it becomes obvious Keith isn’t keeping up. Hunk himself has been yawning for the past two hours, and Keith’s seen the droop of his eyelids and how he’s rubbed his face more than once while they were playing. But he hasn’t made any moves to leave, yet, and Keith can’t be bothered to pull his head up from Hunk’s shoulder where it’s drifted from the back of the couch. 

“Sorry… I should wake up,” Keith mumbles, raking his hand through his hair, controller long forgotten on his lap but his left hand drifts somewhere near Hunk’s, index finger barely an inch away from the fabric of his jeans, other arm folded over his stomach. 

“No, it’s fine… this is nice…,” Hunk replies just as sleepily, head leaned back on the cushions yet it sounds like his voice is right near his ear, sending honeyed electric waves down Keith’s back. 

Keith hums in agreement. He holds his breath and cracks his eyes open into slits to watch the path Hunk’s hand takes across his lap, his pointer finger coming out to gently stroke over the back of Keith’s. Gingerly, so carefully like Keith might retract, he brings his hand forward more, feeling out the slender shape of his first knuckles, around his nails, then the second knuckles, and Keith revels for the twentieth time the contrast of their skin, the lovely difference in their hands. 

Keith’s hand twitches back, hesitantly feeling the soft yet textured underside of his fingers, exploratory, clumsy, swirling his fingers up and around so they’re almost weaved together. Closer, now, he swims in bewilderment at the way Hunk so shyly, timidly, traces the sensitive in-betweens of his fingers. 

It’s the second marvel of the day, yet Keith is lulled to sleep in the simplicity. Sometime, some when, Keith thinks he feels Hunk tracing the lines of his open and relaxed palm, perhaps a nose in his hair, whispered words he cannot hear. But it could just be his own machinations. 

 

Keith wakes up and he immediately notices how much darker his living room is. 

He snaps his eyes open, and realizes he’s lying down. “Hunk?” he grits out, voice thick, pushing himself up to sit. He’s got his blanket over his legs where it wasn’t before, Hobbs currently sleeping in between his knees. Looking over the back of the couch to the illuminated kitchen and entry, Hunk’s shoes are gone, as well as his backpack and coat, all his homework and notebooks cleared off the coffee table with Keith’s things stacked neatly. The mugs are even sitting upside down and washed on the drying rack. The lid of his turntable is closed, the record carefully put away. 

Keith had never known it could be so quiet. 

He furrows his brows with some disappointment and embarrassment, fishing his phone out from his pocket, the time reading 9:04. Fuck, it’s been four hours since the last time he looked while they were playing Diablo. But, there’s texts from Hunk bannered on his lockscreen: 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:11 PM]:**  
Sorry, I had to leave while you were napping :(  
I didn’t want to wake you.Thanks for having me  
over, it was really nice. We also got a lot of  
homework done! :)  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:12 PM]:**  
Also, you mumble really cute in your sleep. You  
talked about blenders xD but you’re also cute 

Keith can’t control what his heart is doing in his chest as he flops back onto the couch, laying his phone out flat on his forehead. He also can’t control how broad his grin is. Or the swelling tide of stupidity catching up to him because he _fell asleep!_ But those texts, left on his phone like notes left behind… 

“Hobbs, what the fuck,” Keith groans through his beaming, absolutely zero complaint to be heard in his voice. Hobbs makes a throaty inquisitive chirp.

 **Me [Today 9:10 PM]:**  
Don’t worry about it, but it was fun. Thanks for the help too  


He sends it off before rereading it, and immediately replies back in a panic: 

**Me [Today 9:10 PM]:**  
You’re also cute too. A lot. Thanks  


He groans because it sounds _so dumb_ but it’s too late now. Hunk said it first, right? Keith’s a little assed, but… doesn’t regret it too much. Not at all, when he thinks about it, because “straight dudes” don’t play with each other’s hands like that, don’t sit so close, call each other cute. And Keith is definitely not straight. Even so, after all the hype, he knows it should feel like a big step telling him all that in so many jilted words, but somehow it doesn’t. 

His phone slips off his face onto the couch cushions, and he looks down at his bare hand, glad he had foregone the fingerless gloves this morning. He still feels Hunk’s fingers through his like phantom touches, his heart feeling all sorts of strange, warm buzzings as he flexes his hand. Hobbs lays on his chest and it helps keep his heart contained. 

Keith moves his hand to push gently over Hobbs’ head between his pointed ears, his cat closing his eyes in bliss and almost looking like he’s smiling. “I like him, buddy,” Keith tells him in a secret kind of voice. “And, I think he might like me back. Isn’t that fuckin’ buck wild.” 

Hobbs purrs in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Keith, you mushy goober you. Hunk really is such a good dude. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments so far!! I can't believe this story has garnered 120+ kudos and 815 hits. That just shivers my timbers, guys, I'm so flattered and humbled. Thanks a billion!! xox
> 
> P.S., the Dylan album Keith has is The Times They Are A-Changin'. Which, trivia fact, I had in mind that his dad owned. What happened to him? Probably something like canon; he whooshed and vanished. I also haven't delved into the whereabouts of Krolia because I wrote this long before the last season. Welp


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has a Rough Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, finally some new characters I've been waiting to introduce!! Though, uh, it could go better :'"D It'll all smooth out, promise. This chapter gave me some emotional feels, it's quite personal to me. Good luck! 
> 
> A song if you'd like: [ You Would Have to Lose Your Mind by the Barr Brothers ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FTY9EbGAL9Q).

Keith’s staring at the computer screen but he’s not cataloging, he’s not internalizing, not doing much of anything. And it’s kind of nice. He’s busy, anyway. He’s parsing through tall fields of honeyed tea leaves and dark rimmed glasses and well-managed cuticles, imaging what such glossy black hair feels like. Imaging those hands, surely capable in fixing machinery, cars like he’s been told, repairing air conditioners for mothers, motorcycles for sisters. The same hands petting softly over Hobbs’ delicate ears, over his own hand like he was something precious. Remembering soft, woodsy, cinnamon cologne which makes Keith’s head tilt and he pushes out a long sigh, leaning sideways into the armrest.

He’s not realizing he’s supposed to be working. Well, some part of his brain does, but a marginal amount that Keith is frankly ignoring. He’s supposed to be doing school, as students do. But, alas, he’s busy. 

Lance, somewhere next to him to his left, is probably doing most of the heavy hauling today, since he keeps nudging Keith and telling him to write things down. Oh, well, it’s his turn, now. 

Everything is so fresh still, so new and green. _He held Hunk’s hand_. Touched his skin and leaned into him and felt him press back. All after telling him that he was trans, like it was no big deal at all. Zero biggie. It took several hoops and twists to catch a grip that Hunk still wanted to be near him, teach him things, the two of them texting late into the night most of the week. It’s so fucking surreal. He could hardly sleep last night and all day through his other classes he’s just been… floating two inches off the ground. Nothing’s quite like it. 

“Hey, dude. Dude. Earth to Keith,” Lance waves his hand in his face, half laughing but also half scowling. 

“Huh?” Keith sits up straight, pulls himself out of the greenery and yellow flowers that have taken over his head space, furiously blinking his eyes. Even rubs them like he was waking up. “Where were we again?”

Lance barks out a laugh but fondly shakes his head. “We’re looking at pulsed inductive thrusters… specific impulses…propellants,” he waves his wrist around, leaning forward as if hoping for Keith to catch on. 

“Oh, yeah. I know. Ramjets?” He attempts to catch up since he was paying attention… sort of. He saw things. Noticed things. His cheeks are already flushing. 

Lance sees right through him, expression going flat. “Close, buddy, but not quite. I don’t even think you saw the last cycle we ran through. Or looked at the specs for the single-stage-to-orbit flightcrafts. You know, the ones NASA is trying to improve? The SABRE crafts?” Lance sighs when Keith just shrugs his shoulders, huffing out an exasperated sigh and leaning back into his chair. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just—not with it today,” Keith explains, rubbing his hands over his face and copying him, splaying his legs out lazily. The two of them stare at the computer screen as the aimless jet flies around the atmosphere, displaying various graphs and running equations on flight patterns. 

“Obviously. It’s okay, you’ve been in Keith-world all day. Probably thinking about butterfly knives or your hipster records,” Lance says without any bite but the tease is there, picking his pen back up and running through some more simulations for the lab requirements. 

“What?” Keith chuckles in disbelief, scrunching his face up. “Butterfly knives? I own one knife and it’s not a butterfly one.” 

“See, that’s what I mean. You and your knives—knife. Or,” Lance hums, tapping his pen on the manual, side-eying him conspiratorially, smirking. “You’re thinking about your crush. The big beefy nerd man. Which, in this novel situation, is remarkable since he’s—hey!” 

Keith leans forward and swiftly steals Lance’s manual from under his hand to look at it for himself. “Let me catch up and help so we don’t run this one into the ground again.” 

“No, nuh-uh, hey! Give that back! I was doing perfectly fine without you, the jet’s still—Keith, dude! That’s not how you do it!” Lance argues shrilly, trying to wrestle the manual back from him and keep the graphs and charts steady at the same time, knocking the keyboard and mouse around surely not helping. All Keith has to do is hold the manual up and away from him, needing to prove to him that he was indeed paying attention to their flightcraft simulation. 

“Let me do this!” Keith eventually relents on holding onto the manual with a death grip after Lance started pulling at his cheeks and rustling his hair. Lance takes it back with a snooty pout and Keith grumbles, running his hand through his hair to fix it and stares holes into his own mostly blank manual. 

Their situations have been completely flipped and he’s irritated by it as much as he finds it bitterly hilarious—Lance is usually the one to zone out while Keith goads him to catch up. But Lance’s head is in the stars thinking about Allura while Keith is just… hopeless. Embarrassingly crushing on his tutor. Who may or may not feel the same way. 

Lance was surprisingly cool about Keith’s day-dreaming, brushing it off and helping Keith to catch up on their progress without a bit of further teasing, even though Keith had to intermittently pull Lance’s eyes away from his phone from texting. He keeps up with the lab going through the processes, figuring out equations while Lance inputs them, adjusting the rocket and flight path and engines, until they eventually finish, nearly two hours later after more than half of the class has left. They’re typically one of the first two to leave with completed labs, but today was just not in the cards. 

There’s still two groups left once they pack up, the professor reading some kind of adventuring autobiography one might see advertised on daytime T.V. sitting up at the front, so they wave goodbye to him before leaving the lab room. The science building is always quiet even in the busy hours earlier in the day, cold and smelling perpetually like rubbing alcohol and dust from the seventies. Lance talks aimlessly about drama from his other classes as they walk down the concrete stairs away from the labs down into the common areas, filling the void of conversation effortlessly as he always does. Keith hums along, hands stuffed deep into his jean jacket, grinning at some of the finer points and watching his old brown boots walk over the linoleum tile. It’s a bit of a relief to be on solid ground, he belatedly notes. 

They find Allura in the study area where some art students had installed hanging multi-colored glass tile mobiles several years ago, making the space significantly more inviting and warm, light glinting off the tiles from the wide windows over the walls and floors. She’s where she usually waits on one of the big armchairs, legs crossed and reading her phone since her classes were done shortly before, just like every Friday. Keith would never admit it so outwardly, but he might have always been a little envious of Lance, to have someone waiting for him so devotedly. It’s touching, really, because Lance deserves something like that. Something so mundane but significant at the same time. Keith’s grown bitterly used to being the one waiting, ever since he was young, and it’s carried on into his adulthood despite his efforts to tamp it out. 

Allura greets them both with a wide smile when they walk closer, putting her phone in her peacoat pocket, standing to give Lance a kiss on the cheek, as she also usually does. It’s routine, but Keith still looks away, gives them a moment as only a third wheel can. It’s something he’s routinely numb to. He’s hung out with Lance and Allura plenty of times and they’ve all had fun together, Pidge even joining sometimes, but something… something about today… makes it a unique wound. It’s hard for him to articulate, fashion together correctly in his brain as rainbow-colored lights flash in his eyes from the tiles circling overhead. 

“How was astrodynamics today?” Allura asks brightly, arm around Lance’s back as his lopes around her shoulders above the backpack straps, the three of them starting to walk toward the exit on the farther end of the common areas. 

“It was fine, except _Keith_ was in Middle Earth the whole time,” Lance says, elbowing Keith to his right. He elbows him back with a pointed eye roll, ignoring how his cheeks burn or how his heart seems to sink to his knees. “Thinking about his nerd crush,” he says to Allura in a hoarse whisper with a smile. 

Allura smiles in return but doesn’t join in on Lance’s ribbing, leaning forward to look Keith over. He glances sideways at her but refuses to meet her gaze, knowing she could probably see right through him. She’s always been like that, stunningly gorgeous yet perceptive and keen unlike anyone he’s met. Pidge once jokingly suggested in passing that she was like an oracle, some kind of fore-teller, because she was so emphatic, so in-tune with her friends to keep the peace. Keith agreed at the time, but also knew in hindsight the power she could swing a pillow with, down a shot of tequila like water, or what a mean hooker she was in a rugby scrum. Once, Keith might have harbored a small feeling for her beyond just friends, but it’s long since withered. It would be hard for anyone not to. 

“Don’t let him bother you, Keith,” Allura says in her vague British lilt, eyes sparkling with amusement and apology in their strange mix of blue and green, tugging Lance’s ear with her free hand. “You know how nosy he is,” she adds, giving Lance a pointed look when he tries to complain. 

“I know,” Keith murmurs, mouth lifting up on a corner as the couple squabble on the way out. 

 

“I’ll see you guys later,” Keith says after walking outside a few paces, gradually taking a different path, lifting up a hand in a goodbye as he pulls out his phone and earbuds, deciding on a whim that he could use a talk with Shiro. He always has his head on straight and Keith’s? Hardly on at all today. Also, Shiro owes him a few beers. Keith _definitely_ wouldn’t complain about drinking some tasty craft brews. Not at all. 

“Hey, Keith,” Allura says just before they’re about to part ways, tugging Lance back around by the hand where Keith had stopped on the sidewalk. She swings her curtain of twisted braids over her shoulder when the wind ruffles them, face bright and open but something in her eyes seems worried. Keith swallows tightly. 

“Yeah?” He asks, pausing in putting in his earbuds. 

“Lance and I were going to the planetarium exhibit at the museum tomorrow. It’s only here until July, and… perhaps you’d like to join? If you need a, ah… distraction. Or something to do. You seem…,” she says almost quietly, leaving _lonely_ unspoken to drift away in the wind. 

He wonders if his hormones have dropped, or if the dosage was off because something pricks at his eyes, but he knows rationally that’s not the case; he had taken his shot last week. His throat closes up as he shakes his head. His chilled hand clenches around the white cord as the other fists in his pocket, rubbing at the inner seam.

“No, that’s… that’s fine. Thanks. But, uhm…” She’s right, he knows she is, and he hates it. But how does he say that all this crushing bullshit has his heart so weary? Mind heavy with questions? How does he say _any_ of it? They don’t even know Hunk, they don’t even know what really happened yesterday at his apartment, how Hunk had made him tea, cuddled his cat and played video games with him for hours. It’s all such simple shit, but to Keith… they don’t _know_. If Lance wasn’t just teasing him, if he’d ask and listen, maybe he wouldn’t be curling away. 

“I have to work. Homework, tomorrow, too. Maybe… maybe some other time,” he says instead, taking a step back and smiling tightly though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Keith, you’re always working,” Lance says and steps forward, but his soft, concerned tone stops him. Lance’s sympathetic, eager expression makes Keith want to hide in the nearest shrub, not used to seeing his friend looking like that, at _him_. “You should come. It’d be really fun.” 

Keith looks to their joined hands and something in his chest squeezes, turns over and twists. A corner presses at his back and the walls close in, and he scowls, indignation creeping up his spine though he does his best to squash it. _Lonely._

“I’m not gonna be your third wheel. Have fun, I’ll check it out sometime,” he grits out with an unlevel voice, plugging his earbuds in, turning away and striding down the sidewalk toward the social sciences and humanities building. 

Make that several beers he’d like to drink. 

His boots pound the pavement as he walks quick and determinedly toward the building, taking the steps by two up to the third floor and rounding tight corners swiftly. He barely gives Shiro’s cracked open door two knocks before he’s pushing it open and breezing in, seating himself right in the chair that hasn’t moved in a millennia. 

“Oh,” Shiro says, fingers paused an inch above his laptop keyboard, staring wide-eyed at Keith in shock before letting his hands drop. “It’s you. Hello.” 

Keith can tell with a glance that Shiro’s lifted brow indicates that he’s mildly annoyed for interrupting him unannounced at six o’clock on a Friday, and that he wasn’t expecting him. They have each other’s numbers but it’s not like Keith thought about texting him an alert. 

“Keith, what are you—”

“What are you doing tonight?” He interjects, hands clasped between his knees, rubbing his knuckles and bouncing one of his legs. 

Shiro blinks, leans back in his chair. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just regards Keith, and it makes the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Shiro swallows and purses his mouth to the side, taps his metal fingers on his desk. 

“Remember that brewery we went to a few months ago? We could go. If you’re not busy, and… if you’d like to,” Keith says, and he hates how strained he sounds, so hopeful.  
Shiro glances back to the door and Keith gets the notion he wasn’t expecting Keith at all, but maybe someone else. Fuck. He shouldn’t have come. 

“Sorry, Keith,” Shiro says, and he means it, his face so genuinely apologetic that Keith wouldn’t have complained if a hole opened to suck him up into space. “But I’m busy… tonight,” his voice is halting, halfway to awkward. Keith would laugh and ask why he’s pulling that kind of face but his curiosity piques, feels it tingle down his spine. 

Keith doesn’t even have a chance to ask him what he means or to apologize for wasting his time before someone knocks on the door frame and edges halfway inside. Keith turns his bent and confused gaze onto the figure in the doorway just a second before his mouth drops. 

“I apologize if I’m interrupting a meeting, but ah…,” the guy clears his throat awkwardly, glancing from Keith to Shiro. He gives a placating shrug when it’s clear that they’re not having a school-orientated meeting and steps further into the room, putting a sleek black briefcase onto the desk that’s always been empty every single time Keith’s ever visited. 

The second (third?) thing Keith notices are the black gradient-like clouds and hatchwork lines on the man’s tanned wrists, only seen as he reaches forward with the motion tugging up his navy blazer sleeves, surely more tattoos hidden underneath. He’s well dressed, glossy black hair tied in a neat bun at the base of his head, sharp brows and sharper jawline and all legs. He leans on the edge of the second desk, tugging on his suit jacket, and Shiro turns away from Keith to give mystery guy a look, say something wordlessly, before turning back around and letting out a long sigh. Keith sits back and squares his shoulders. 

“Keith, this is Lotor. He’s a fellow history grad student with me under Dr. Montgomery,” Shiro says, gesturing behind him to Lotor, but his shoulders are tight, his eyes resigned. Lotor, likewise, seems hedged back, looking to Shiro. What the fuck. Something’s slithering beneath the surface and Keith knows it’s there, but what it is he couldn’t grasp. 

Lotor, however, steps forward and holds out his hand for Keith to shake, sleekly smiling. “It’s good to meet you, Keith. I’ve heard much about you,” he says, and Keith notices the fifth thing, in that his accent is something not quite American, not wholly British, but something deep and full and regal. He shakes Lotor’s hand, catching the glint of his amber eyes before he looks away, his brows furrowed. 

Words push at his mouth but he doesn’t let them out, too many questions needing answers rising to the forefront. He tries to ask what coursework he’s doing for any semblance of conversation but it completely eludes him. Something about the day. 

“We’ve been working on our theses together, at conveniently off hours. Most of the time, anyway,” Lotor supplies, tucking his hands into his tailored trousers, crossing his ankles.

“Have you?” Keith states, not brooking room for question, his voice coming out harder than he means it to. Shiro stiffens but Keith doesn’t yield, taut as a rubberband twisted too many times. “Never heard about that.” 

“Keith,” Shiro hisses under his breath, running a hand over his cheek. It’s Shiro’s fault why all this tension in the room has risen up to Keith’s ears, Lotor pretending like he has no part in it though he clearly does, and he doesn’t like it. “This isn’t what I imagined happening…,” Shiro says quietly just before he snaps his laptop closed, stuffing it into his bag.

“Imagined what? Shiro, what aren’t you saying?” Keith demands, voice lowered as if the conversation was wholly between them but it definitely isn’t, with the room so small and bricked in, with Lotor standing not five feet away. Annoyance twists his insides when Shiro refuses to meet his gaze, and he snarls, “Sorry I asked you to go somewhere—” 

“It’s not that. I’m busy with a _date_ tonight, Keith. I’m sorry. It’s not how I wanted to tell you, I was going to sooner, but… this happened,” Shiro explains slowly, brows pinched together, regarding Keith with a look something akin to remorse. Sadness, maybe. Embarrassment. 

Keith reels back more out of shock than anything else, looking between Shiro and Lotor for a beat before feeling his heart sink straight out of his ass, breath going cold in his chest. The fight in him withers and goes still. 

“A date?” Keith whispers, the word almost foreign in Shiro’s mouth. After all this time, seeing Shiro here, in the library, in the cafeteria, outside of school… he’s never heard a word about Lotor until now. Mentions of a friend, one he’s worked with, sure. Lotor never made the connection. And because Keith isn’t in the social sciences department he’s heard of him even less. He’s known Shiro for years. Why he wouldn’t mention a potential date, someone worthy of his time like that, is beyond him. 

Shiro nods and tries to smile, but even a ghost would know that it was transparent. 

If he wasn’t so wound up and ready to spring or crack he might have waited. Waited for another explanation, waited for Shiro or Lotor to say something, but Keith is rarely patient and has grown tired of waiting. He stands from the chair and gives Shiro a tight smile, fisting his hands in his pockets. “I’m glad, then. Real glad. Have a good time,” he says woodenly. He turns on his heel and leaves, ignoring Shiro’s small plea for him to stay. 

 

He strides home, steps fumbling more than usual on the uneven pavement. He didn’t even bother putting in his earbuds for the twenty-minute walk, tangled up in his pocket. His teeth are grit against the pushing winds, chin tucked into his hood, and he walks through an empty stoplight without looking just for the hell of it. 

There are several things he refuses to address. One being how his binder has rolled up uncomfortably over his back during his mad dash off campus. The other being his phone vibrating in his pocket with texts intermittently. Everything else is Off Limits until he has his shit together because he’s feeling some type of way and he is not well equipped to handle it. 

“Fucking bullshit…,” he mumbles as he trips over a crack in the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding a patch of ice. 

He doesn’t miss the next patch of ice, and instead meets it with his knees skidding to the concrete, palms coming out to keep his face from eating shit. Luckily his leather gloves keep his hands from getting scraped, but his knees sting already and he’s reaching for his phone that fell out of his jacket pocket. 

“Fuck. Fuck this so much,” Keith groans when he sees a new crack has blossomed across his screen, and just the culmination of everything has tears pricking at his eyes. There’s five messages from **Hunk ☼** bannered on his lock screen and one has several sunglasses emojis on it and it just… aches. 

It’s not the first time he’s cried on a street with headlights passing by him, but it’s definitely the most unwelcome. He clutches at his fucked up phone and holds it to his chest as tears drip off his chin onto his jeans, shoulders shaking with small inconsequential sobs. He gives himself half a minute, the longest thirty seconds in his life, to cry and get out this unworthy feeling searing at his bones, and ceases altogether. He rubs at his eyes and sniffles, the cold not helping the snot running out of his nose onto his jacket sleeve, but he pulls himself up and manages to get his feet under him. 

When he gets home and sees Hobbs purring and chirping at him, weaving between his feet and looking up at him with his big green eyes, the tears return again, and it takes Keith a while to get his shoes off, clutching Hobbs to his chest like he does. Only after he’s fed his cat, eaten a few crackers from the box Hunk left behind yesterday, changed out of his clothes into pajamas, burrow himself into his bed comforters, does Keith look at his phone. 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 2:42 PM]:**  
Hey! Totally just aced this geochemistry exam!  
Thanks to your help :) some of that history stuff  
totally blindsides me, man  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 3:23 PM]:**  
I’m foretelling that I’m going to have to make  
a coffee run on Saturday  << Are you working?  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 3:57 PM]:**  
Are you alive? Should I be worried?  
I know where all the fire emergency handles  
are in Dos Santos hall B) B) B)  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 4:12 PM]:**  
Sorry in hindsight for all the double-texts  
but are you ok?  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 5:26 PM]:  
** Keith? :( 

In addition to Hunk’s messages, there’s ones from Lance and Allura both and one from Pidge, but he doesn’t have the energy to read or reply to them. Rather, he rereads Hunk’s messages top to bottom and back up again, his bottom lip quivering. The knots in his chest loosen as his stomach flips over itself simultaneously because Hunk is so palpably, tangibly _worried_ about him. For no reason at all other than his absence. 

He buries his face into Hobbs’ fur, his cat conveniently taking up the duty of being his crown for the night, sitting curled around his head protectively, but Keith couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. He’s the furthest thing from being annoyed, at this very blip in time. Hunk has a way of doing things to him he’s just barely begun to understand, but he revels in it and lets it in.

 **Me [Today 8:58 PM]:**  
I’m fine, sorry for worrying you. It’s been  
a really rough day.  
**Me [Today 8:58 PM]:**  
Thank you. For texting.  
**Me [Today 8:59 PM]:**  
Congrats on the exam, too. You should  
definitely pull the fire emergency  
handles sometime tho.

Despite feeling like a mess, inadequate, upset and unworthy for stealing this boy’s time and attention, he still eagerly awaits Hunk’s response a few minutes later. And just for awhile, protected by his cat, he feels like he could deal with his problems for another day if just to see Hunk’s masterful use of emojis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry... it'll all be okay ;~; Sooner than you'd think... 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's okay, there's soup. And some shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just?? Thank everyone for their support and lovely words and comments?? Like a million times? Because that's the Mood. I'm just blown clear out of the water. Thank you so much <3 
> 
> Song Rec: pleasepleaseplease give [ Notion by Tash Sultana](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dbAuwBvOGNU) a listen (still not obligated of course) but like... it gives my feels a serious run for their money. A good vibe setter for Keith's just whole pining crushing heart, my dudes. It's so good.

There’s something to be said about waking up feeling like a piece of shit. Just an outright idiot. A fool. A stupid motherfucker. Regret lingers in his head like cotton during his shift at the café, he looks to his phone several times and comes close to texting Shiro about eight times but never has the guts to send it off. Shiro’s messaged him and he just… leaves him on read. Which is stupid because he’s not even mad at him. He would be such an ass if he was mad at him but he’s even more of an ass for not replying, he just… doesn’t know what to say. At all. Pidge just gives him this look of pity when he vaguely explains the whole Lotor situation and Keith has half a mind to crawl underneath the espresso machines.

 **Shiro [Today 10:31 AM]:**  
Hey. I’m really sorry how yesterday went.  
I wanted to tell you in a… different way.  
Not like that.  
**Shiro [Today 11:14 AM]:**  
I understand if you’re mad with me, but I’d  
like to explain in person, whenever you’re  
available. 

It’s painful sometimes how nice Shiro is, how fucking eloquent, because all Keith could do is keysmash and word vomit. He tucks his phone away and pulls the handle to draw espresso shots with more vigor than he needs. If the espresso comes out faster and more watery than usual, fuck it. It’s not like the customers here really know what espresso should taste like, anyway, with all the sugar they put in their drinks. 

“I’d be mad, too, if I were you,” Pidge says with utter conviction out of the blue, sidling up next to him at the machine. “After all your swooning over Hunk, you’d think he’d share.”

Keith hums noncommittally, because that’s the cinch point to his assery: he never even bothered to ask Shiro what was going on with him. “Yeah, I guess. But it was just… me talking, most of the time.”

“Oh, wow, Keith. I see now,” Pidge says, handing him the customers cup to pour the shitty espresso shots into. Doesn’t she have other things to be doing? “I still would’ve told you regardless if I was Shiro. With a man like Lotor? Yeah. That’s something to talk about.” 

What? What in the fresh hell? “How do you know Lotor? You’re not even in history, Pidge. You hate European history because of all the Christian shit.” Keith free pours the steamed milk into the cup and it almost overflows but he catches it just in time. No fancy patterns, then. 

Pidge raises her brow and pushes up her silver-rimmed glasses up the slope of her freckled nose. “And?” She stares at him as if asking him to challenge her knowledge. He wisely doesn’t. “In any case, you are valid. And I appreciate you.” 

Her use of the cafe company’s HR slogan makes him crack a smile, but also because Pidge doesn’t tell him stuff like that often. It’s always nice to hear even if he wasn’t looking for it. Her hand clasps his shoulder and she takes the drink he had been making to put a lid and a sleeve on it, calling out the customer’s name with over-blown enthusiasm that has Keith barking out a laugh behind his hand. 

The morning shift on Saturdays is usually a lot more easy-going than mid or night shifts, so he and Pidge have the time to talk to some of their regulars, bemoan the weather and talk about community events, joke about the menu and hear about their dogs. Keith doesn’t groan about making smoothies as he usually does, and Pidge writes names on cups with more flourish. It’s nice, the music is good, the fireplace warm and ambient. 

Then Hunk comes in like he said he would and Pidge abdicates her position at the register for Keith to use. He saunters over and smiles as Hunk brushes fresh snow off his shoulders, stomps his boots onto the mat in front of the door, Keith just drinking him in. In the back of his mind it’s like a breeze had blown through, shirking the weight on his shoulders and making his skin tingle even though he isn’t cold. He’s quite warm, actually, ducking his grin down into his apron and messing with the register screen to appear nonchalant as Hunk approaches the counter. 

He looks up at him and it’s a relief to see his smiling face, his half fogged-up glasses, Keith helplessly staring. When Hunk speaks, deep and warm and honey-smooth, there’s not a trace of the cold lingering in his voice. “Hey, Keith.” 

Just that has his axis titillating again, whirlpools pushing at his ribs. “Hey, Hunk.” 

Hunk does that thing where he tucks his smile into his coat collar, all bashful and awkward but Keith just finds it embarrassingly endearing.“I’m, uhm. Here for coffee, obviously. But also,” Hunk starts, and his voice is quiet, nervous almost, just before he sets a paper bag on the counter, pushing it toward him. “You said you weren’t feeling great yesterday, so I… made you soup. Just chicken and wild rice, with some bread. I thought about doing an actual bread bowl but I didn’t want it to get mushy and gross before you were able to eat it, so it’s just regular soup. In a bowl. It’s, like, post-boil so it should stay hot until you have lunch, or a break, or whatever…”

Hunk keeps rambling as Keith gapes at the bag, precariously opening it to see that, yup, sure as shit, there’s soup inside a tupperware as well as a slice of crispy French bread, neatly packed. God. He thinks he might keel over with how fast his heart shoves up into his larynx. He thinks he might kiss him. 

He doesn’t do any of that, though. 

Hunk made him _homemade soup_. Straight up. Just because he was thinking about him. 

“Hunk,” he says to stop him from talking his head off, folding up the bag gingerly and careless to how broad his grin is, pleased that Hunk’s jaw immediately snaps shut when he looks at him. “Thank you. Really. It’s… very sweet of you.” 

“Oh,” Hunk says, his breath leaving him in a gust, shoulders relaxing, cheeks going a beautiful russet red. “Yeah. It’s… no problem.” 

Keith doesn’t give a shit as he slides his hand across the counter where Hunk’s rests after his spiel, tentatively sliding his fingers under his hand even though his touch is familiar, welcome, and curls his smaller hand around his digits. The expression on Hunk’s face when he glances down is blinding, stunning, his larger thumb skating over his knuckles, and his eyes behind his glasses hold the softest look Keith’s seen directed at him. He feels like he could melt into the floor by how besotted Hunk appears, smiling delicately and overjoyed and a hundred other things Keith’s only learning to see. Hunk’s shoulders relax as he folds his fingers over Keith’s, and he grips Hunk’s fingers firmly in response, feeling the texture and shape now that he’s not half asleep, admiring the calluses and creases on the undersides. 

“Oh my god, you guys are holding hands,” Pidge conveniently croons behind him. 

Keith tears his hand away just as Hunk does, Hunk’s going straight into his pocket pretending as if his hand had never left, and Keith clenches his by his side. He directs a scowl toward her but even he knows it’s half-hearted. 

“Pidge, shut up,” he growls. Hunk vacates his position to ponder the bakery case and Keith envies him for a split moment. 

“That’s literally so sweet, Keith dearest. His soup is awesome. I’m super jealous right now, but I also want to store that memory of you two forever. Since you’re gonna deny it,” she says smugly, throwing an arm around Keith’s shoulders, making him lean sideways to accommodate her height. 

“I’m gonna eat it front of you, then,” he says just before rubbing his knuckles into her cinnamon hair, making her howl and push him back.

After she straightens her apron haughtily, she puts her hands onto the counter to lean over it, whistling for Hunk’s attention. “Hey, big guy. You’re a sap.” 

Hunk’s eyes go wide in shock for a moment before huffing out a laugh, shrugging casually. Keith sees that he tries to hide his smile, keep it level. “None of your business,” he replies, lifting a sharp thick brow. 

“Also, stop pretending that you totally weren’t doing that.” 

“What? Looking at these macarons? That aren’t even French?” 

Keith snorts obnoxiously behind Pidge, silently applauding Hunk’s deadpan and sarcastic delivery. 

“Ugh,” Pidge sighs and slides off the counter, turning to Keith with a bored expression. “You should just take your lunch with your boyfriend. Jamira’s in the back doing stock, I’ll call her up if I need help.” 

Keith physically chokes on his spit, coughing into his fist, looking around to see that Hunk didn’t hear that. Pidge sympathetically (though with complete self-satisfaction) claps him on the back and hands him his paper bag, pushing him out from behind the counters. He takes off his apron and launches it at her and she bursts out laughing. 

He meets Hunk on the other side of the bakery case, shyly and delicately holding his bag so the soup doesn’t slosh around inside. “Do you want anything?” he asks, and Hunk stands up straight to regard him, the hand closest to Keith sliding out of his pocket. (Keith notices not for the first time just how tall he is, easily half a head taller. It makes him shiver down to his toes for some reason.) He looks prepared to decline so Keith insists, “Seriously, let me. I don’t want to be the only one eating.” 

Hunk’s bites his lip, looking from Keith to the case, and that seems to convince him. “Sure. I have a half hour before I should head out, anyway.” 

“Perfect.” 

Keith uses his one free item discount on a sandwich for Hunk and Pidge slides him a cookie on the sly. Keith bumps her knuckles in a true bro-fist and she silently wishes him the best as they go sit at an empty table by the windows, the outside sills layered in the last fluffy snowflakes of the season. Keith wastes no time in pulling out the tupperware of soup and accompanied spork, smirking despite himself at Hunk’s shit-eating grin. Sly motherfucker, trying to get him to like sporks. 

He unclasps the lid, stirring the soup around and taking a bite. He doesn’t miss Hunk’s rapt attention, either, eagerly awaiting his response as he pulls his own sandwich out of the heat-safe bag. Hunk wasn’t lying about how hot it was, but Keith tastes everything, chews on the perfectly cooked wild rice and swallows, leaning back in his chair as the warmth seeps down to his stomach and soothes in only a way soup can. 

“How is it?” Hunk says around a quiet chuckle after a long beat of silence, taking a bite of sandwich. 

“It’s good. Really fucking good,” he answers with feeling, shoveling another sporkful into his mouth. Hunk tries to hide his adorably crooked grin behind his sandwich but he doesn’t do a great job. 

They talk easily, sharing small stories and tidbits about school and work. Hunk talks about his superiors at the Garrison, Pidge’s brother Matt and her father Sam and their projects that he’s helping out on, and whom he’s bringing coffee to later. Keith tells him about Hobbs and some of his antics, about some of the weirder experiences at the cafe he’s had. They talk about engines, car repairs, about an old electric scooter Hunk had when he was thirteen. Keith unintentionally makes Hunk laugh, and just watching his face, how his eyes crinkle and how the apples of his cheeks shine, it all makes Keith forget that he has work in fifteen minutes. It’s completely out of his mind. It’s crazy just how his attention zeroes in on the boy across from him, the time going slower than the dripping icicles outside. 

Keith pretends he doesn’t notice Hunk’s boot tapping against his and staying there. He pretends he doesn’t feel Hunk’s knees bumping into his own underneath the table though he very much does. He also pretends to not think about how this feels kinda like a date. A spontaneous one, forced on them by Pidge, but neither had argued, just… fell into it. He doesn’t think about how nice it is, either, how he wouldn’t mind, or how easy it would be to imagine it. (Except he does. Every second.) 

“So yeah, don’t strap a leaf blower to a spinny chair,” Hunk says in finality, leaning his elbow on the table with his chin in his hand, shoulders angled toward Keith with a goofy smirk on his face. “Unless you want a twisted ankle like my brother.”

Something like giddiness bubbles in Keith’s stomach, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I’ve had my fair share of accidents. Longboarding will do that.” 

“You have a longboard?” Hunk asks with interest, fingers mindlessly tracing the wood grain.

Keith looks up at him from his half empty soup bowl and _definitely_ doesn’t miss the way Hunk’s espresso brown eyes appear almost gold in the centers, not with the light next to them so bright. Or how one side of his mouth is always a little higher than the other when he smiles. Or how his eyebrows look plucked and perfect for being so thick but Hunk doesn’t do a damn thing about them. Keith didn’t know he could notice such little things about a person, but each new discovery feels like a revelation. He has to clear his throat to keep his voice even and regular. 

“Yeah, still do. Wanna hear about the time I went down a hill going approximately sixty miles an hour?” He says with a crooked, sly smirk on his face, also leaning on the small round table. 

“Oh, god. Do I want to know?” 

“You do.” 

“Then spill.”

Keith jokingly puffs up, putting on fake confidence for the sake of his dumbass story. “It looked like a regular hill, past some apartments. There was grass at the bottom, it seemed okay.”

“Super okay hill, got it,” Hunk interjects, drumming fingers over his cheek.

“I didn’t notice how deep it was until I was halfway down and barreling straight for a curb,” Keith continues without a lost beat, lowering his voice and glancing sideways out the window, too nervous to look at Hunk straight on, just barely a foot apart in their own bubble. “I carve left and right to try and slow down but I don’t really. Still going fast as shit.”

“Oh, man,” Hunk says emphatically, his voice quiet, eyes sparkling in the silver light from the windows. “Did you hit the curb?”

“Oh, yeah. Straight on, snapped my trucks clean off. But not before I took a dive, flipped and rolled around on the grass,” his heart pounds as he leans forward on a whim with a sudden marvelous idea, his bangs brushing Hunk’s cheek to say in his ear, “Got right up, though. Not a scratch.” 

He leans back slowly, finding Hunk’s hand dropping from his chin but otherwise still as stone. Keith smiles and shrugs, glad to see Hunk’s cheeks pinkening and his throat bobbing as he swallows. Something about doing that, making Hunk flustered just because he can, has his blood thrumming in his ears in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time, electrified all down his spine. The story was mostly true, but Keith left out the tears in his jeans and the grass stains he was never able to get out. Still, though, he thinks that Hunk’s flush has nothing to do with the longboarding. 

Hunk huffs out a breath, a small uneven laugh, blinking to collect himself. “That’s good. Didn’t know you could pull some ninja moves,” he responds airily, almost dazed, his inner knee warm where it presses against the outside of Keith’s, the shape of his calf against his shin. It’s Keith’s turn for his breath to still in his throat when Hunk’s eyes bore into his own and hold him there, some type of tension snapping and fizzling between them. 

Hunk opens his mouth to say something and Keith goes still in anticipation, until the bell of the front door makes Hunk’s gaze swerve away. He furrows his brows and pulls out his phone with a quiet ‘oh, damn’ when he sees the time. Keith looks to the clock on the wall behind the register counter and sees that his break was over five minutes ago. 

“Hunk, buddy! What’s keeping you?” Someone says behind Keith but the voice is strangely familiar, nasally and deep at the same time. Keith whips his head around. “Keith? Is that you?!” 

Lance strides into the cafe, knocking the snow off his boots, his furry aviator hat covered in snow but quickly melting in the warmth of the lobby. Allura is shortly behind him, wrapped up in a fluffy scarf up to her ears and gazing with awe around the cafe. Keith just… gapes. Flounders like a fish when Lance approaches with a massive grin on his face, clapping his gloved hands together. 

“I totally texted you, man! I didn’t believe you when you said you’d be working, but I guess you… kind of are? Stealing my dude’s attention is what you’re doing. Hunk, are you ready? Gotta drop you off at the government building place so we can borrow your car for the day,” Lance says, sitting in the empty chair easily like he didn’t just destroy Keith’s entire paradigm. His whole understanding of the universe and his current place in it just fizzles away. Lance is as chill as an icicle, grinning at Hunk bemoaning the time. Oblivious. 

Keith tries valiantly to catch up, but the fact that Lance is here, his three-year-long lab partner and classmate and fellow aerospace physics major, talking to Hunk, his four-month-long crush, just all _casual_. Like they’ve known each other for years. There’s no fucking way. “Uhm. Holy shit,” Keith whispers behind his hand, leaning back in his chair and looking in the direction of the outside but not seeing any of it. 

“Keith? What’s going on?” Hunk asks, looking outside too, then back at him across the table with his brows knitted. 

“You know each other?” Keith asks Lance, swiftly turning and grabbing his bicep as if demanding a quick answer, which would definitely be beneficial. Faster the better, because his brain’s about to combust straight out of his skull. 

“Uh, yeah? Didn’t you know that? I swear I mentioned Hunk to you, like, a million times,” Lance says, narrowing his eyes at Keith skeptically though the amusement is crystal clear on his face. “He’s my roommate, dude.” 

Keith just blinks. Allura appears between Lance and Hunk, and Pidge somewhere by his shoulder, but frankly? What the fuck. 

“And they were roommates,” Pidge stage whispers to him, making Lance and Hunk bellow in laughter. Keith barely hears it. 

This whole time, Lance bugging him about his crush, “big beefy nerd man,” Hunk talking about his roommates’ stupid antics, Lance talking about all the food at his apartment, Hunk tutoring, all of it—it adds up. They knew each other. Checks right the fuck out. CSI type of conviction. Cue the slam of a gavel. 

This whole fucking time. And Keith was literally the last person on Earth to catch on. Of course. 

“It’s alright, Keith,” Allura’s the first one to stop laughing at him so graciously, leaning against the back of Lance’s chair. Quickly her gaze turns teasing, however, and Keith wants to bury his face in his hands. “Sometimes it’s hard to connect the dots when Hunk is, you know, a hunk.”

Face: buried. 

“But I’ve known Keith for years!” Lance exclaims with disbelief, clapping Keith on the back as Pidge ruffles his hair, completely ignoring Keith’s small whine of embarrassment and Hunk’s similar reaction. “Took you long enough to figure it out, buddy. You have full permission to hop aboard the Hunk train now.”

“Lance!” Hunk exclaims, aghast with a fully red face, reaching to punch his friend in the shoulder, Pidge cackling in delight. “Don’t _say_ that, jesus. It’s not his fault, I never mentioned you either.” Lance clutches his hand to his chest and makes the worst puppy dog look anyone’s ever seen and Hunk bends, clarifying, “By name! I thought he knew, too.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith says with much feeling, finally pulling his hands away from his face to resolutely collect his and Hunk’s trash, stuffing it into the paper bag but leaving his tupperware aside. “This is… this is too much.”

“You’re welcome, Keith,” Lance says, stopping Keith from getting up with the smarmy look on his face, wanting so badly to shove snow in it. “I’m the best wingman.” 

Keith scoffs. “You didn’t _do anything_. That’s the point. The _opposite_. That’s not—“

“Worst wingman,” Allura says for him, apologetically patting Lance’s shoulder. 

“Not a wingman at all. Two stars for trying,” Hunk adds very helpfully and gets up from the table just as Keith does, Lance pouting all dramatically as Pidge checks his shoulder for fun and Allura tugs his hat over his eyes.

Keith goes to throw the trash away and collect his bearings, fixing his hair and his shirt subtly. Just before he’s about to go find wherever Pidge had hid his apron, he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder, knowing by touch that it’s Hunk’s. He turns and sees that Hunk looks like he might wilt, face all crumpled and apologetic. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, dropping his hand from his shoulder. Keith briefly misses its warmth and assurance. 

“For what?” he asks with no small amount of confusion. It’s not like he asked Hunk for Lance to be how he is, even if they are apparently roommates. 

Hunk wrings his hands together. “I knew you and Lance were lab partners because he told me, after I met you. He talked about you before but I didn’t know it was you,” Hunk explains, fixing his glasses and tucking some hair behind his ear, gaze somewhere over Keith’s shoulder. “I should have… I don’t know, made it clear, or something. I never asked him to… uhm,” he shuffles his feet, treading a careful, unspoken line that makes something zing up Keith’s spine, twist in his stomach like a smoothie blender. _Never asked him to wingman for me_ hangs in the air between them. 

Hunk takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, smiling a little wryly. “Yeah. He’s been my roommate this whole time. Wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on you.” 

Keith crosses his arms out of habit, nodding his head. “It’s fine, Hunk. It’s not your fault I didn’t connect the dots.” Allura was right about Hunk being Hunk, though. He scratches his cheek awkwardly and clears his throat. “Thanks, though. It’s good to know, now.” 

“Yeah,” Hunk replies, biting his lip before he breaks out into a grin. It’s the twentieth cutest thing he’s seen today. “But, uh, now that that’s clear and over with, you should come over sometime. We play a lot of video games, card games. Stupid stuff. I’d… I’d like you to.” 

Oh, man, just seeing how shy Hunk gets as he finishes talking has Keith’s heart doing cartwheels in his chest. It feels like there’s no room for him to breathe. “Yeah. Me too.”

A few moments pass, the music of the cafe plays on and the noises of students talking, working on laptops, continues on in the background but it’s not like Keith hears any of it. Belatedly he thinks that this is the part where something Huge is supposed to happen, one of them supposed to do something first, but neither of them really move, not for a beat or two. Keith just softly smiles up at Hunk as he does the same, the two of them leaning on the empty bar counter, something easy and natural and comfortable in the few inches between them, like he’s noticed before. He’s glad it stays. 

“Do you want coffee?” he speaks first to break the silence, and he’s surprised by how wispy his voice comes out. The urge to stay close is overwhelming, to put his hand into Hunk’s pocket, hook their pinkies, anything to keep him from getting back to work. 

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry, I was just… just looking at you,” Hunk murmurs, and his eyes trace the shape of Keith’s face so openly he might feel like he was a painting in the Louvre if espresso didn’t cling to his skin like cologne. Still, though, he blushes up to his ears, plays with the choppy ends of his hair. 

“What would you like?” he asks after clearing his throat, choosing not to pry into what exactly Hunk was thinking while he was looking at him, butterflies stirring around in his stomach. 

“Whatever’s easiest. The Holt’s don’t really care as long as it’s got caffeine,” Hunk says, and he hasn’t moved, hasn’t taken his eyes away once. It’s riveting, in a new way, so blatantly stealing his attention like Lance had said. 

“Alright, then, big guy,” Keith replies, swelling with a bit of confidence as he pries himself away to round the corner, giving Hunk a quick wink. He grins when he sees Hunk lift his brows, raising a hand to cover his clearly broad smile behind his hand, drag his fingers down his chin. 

Keith makes lattes for the Holts and a mocha with some cinnamon for Hunk, putting an extra espresso shot in there for him. He tries to make a rosetta but the milk wasn’t steamed quite right, but Hunk commends the peach-butt shape that he forms in the foam like he was a sports spectator, making Keith bend over laughing. He puts them all in a tray for Hunk but not before drawing something on Hunk’s cup for him to discover later when he takes off the sleeve. 

“Ah, finally,” Lance says, sidling up next to Hunk across the counter when Keith hands him the tray, his lanky arm swinging up around Hunk’s shoulder. “Ready to go back to your internship? Know you’d rather stay, but—“

“I’m ready, Lance,” Hunk says and elbows him softly in the side, then gives Keith a secret smile. “Thanks, Keith. See you Tuesday?”

“Yeah, definitely. Have fun at your internship,” Keith says as he waves him off, Allura holding the door open for Lance and Hunk to walk through before following herself, giving Pidge and Keith a farewell. Outside, Keith can see Allura playfully kick a pile of snow at Lance’s feet just off the curb, and Lance does the same, Hunk holding the tray high up to avoid the wayward snowflakes as they walk down the street past the front windows. 

Keith lifts a hand to smooth over his hair, exhaling long and slow, dropping his hand to fold his arms again as he leans against the register counter. He only notices he’s smiling when Pidge comes up and pokes his cheek before wrapping her arms around his middle in a surprise sideways hug. He stiffens instinctually but remembers that Pidge accepts him, is one of his closest friends, so he hugs her back with an arm around her shoulders, chuckling as warmth stains his cheeks.

“You’re such a nerd,” Pidge says into his shoulder, hugging him for just a moment longer. “But I’m happy for you.” 

“Aw, Pidgeon,” Keith coos jokingly, rubbing her back and letting her go just as she does. 

And, as to be expected, she punches his shoulder when she pulls away, and Keith does the same before going to clean the espresso machines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Keith's caught on and he's got a first class ticket for the Hunk Train. 
> 
> Thank you so much!! I'd love to hear what you guys think! (Also that S6 trailer? catch me cryin in the club)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Shiro figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand here’s where the rating gets bumped up folks ;) Keith has a bit of time to himself in the shower, but please let me know if anything is distasteful and I will happily edit it. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!

**Me [Today 6:47 AM]:**  
I’m gonna meet you for your run, be there in 10  
**Me [Today 6:47 AM]:  
** I kno wyou’re awake and reading this  


**Shiro [Today 6:48 AM]:  
** You wanna talk?

 **Me [Today 6:49 AM]:**  
Obviosuly 

As foretold, Keith’s waiting outside Shiro’s apartment complex at the ass-crack of dawn, geared up in leggings and running shorts, hoodie and turtleneck shirt because it’s still chilly as hell, rubbing his gloved fingers together in the mist. Shiro opens the front door and shakes his head fondly when he sees Keith leaning against the railing on the sidewalk, Shiro dressed in a similar get-up but with a ridiculously bright beanie with the university’s logo on the front fold. 

“Well, good morning to you,” Keith says with a smirk, falling into step with Shiro as they start off at a steady pace down the parking lot. 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro says softly with a resigned tone but his eyes remain bright even this early in the goddamn morning. “I can never figure you out.”

“I know I’m a mess, you don’t have to tell me,” Keith mutters, looking at the passing pavement beneath his feet. 

“That’s not what I mean,” Shiro says, looking sidelong at him. Unlike Keith, Shiro has a more fluid running pace, arms swaying, hands loose and shoulders bouncing. Even though he’s wearing a sports bra, Keith is more stiff, arms close to his body, steps a bit lighter. It’s probably because Shiro often runs for the endurance while Keith mostly does it to let out pent-up energy, aggression. Keith’s more of a gym rat. Shiro’s all about the organic fitness. Whatever. They’ve gone running before but not for a long time, since last fall, at least. He’s glad Shiro starts and keeps the pace something manageable. 

Shiro doesn’t press him to talk, though, and he’s glad about that, too. 

Keith bites his lip, swerving to the side to avoid a chunk of snow that dropped off someone’s car bumper. He’s gotta bite the bullet and he knows it. “I’m sorry. For being dramatic. It was, uh…,” He furrows his brows, looking ahead and avoiding glancing in Shiro’s general direction. “A weird day. And I made everything weird.” 

Shiro makes a hum of acknowledgement, allowing room for Keith to elaborate but he doesn’t. They jog a couple more yards before Shiro speaks, level and apologetic. “It’s okay. I figured something was up. You came into my office as tense as a wire.” 

"Yeah,” Keith huffs, a knot forming in his stomach. “It was really dumb. I wasn’t even that mad.” 

“Well,” Shiro says, a wry smirk cutting across his face. “I’m sorry, too. For not saying anything about Lotor. I should have.” 

“It’s fine,” Keith answers quickly, turning the corner with Shiro to a paved nature path that weaves through a park, the trees heavy with melting snow and the forest dim and quiet. Peaceful. Keith’s pattering heart eases a little, something about being around the earth and its unassuming simplicity makes his shoulders lighter. But, he still feels some kind of way about this whole conversation, like a needle burrowed deep, ashamed with his shame and embarrassed with his embarrassment. It’s a whole culmination of bullshit he doesn’t particularly like dealing with, but Shiro deserves better. “It’s not like you owe me an explanation. You’re an adult. Kind of.” 

Shiro, gracious and kind as he is, gives a small chuckle at that. 

“You have a lot going on. And I kept talking about Hunk, anyway,” Keith adds a short while later, the two of them jogging in contented silence as the park wakens around them, the early morning sun filtering through the crackled tree limbs. “I should have asked.” 

Shiro doesn’t say anything immediately in response, so Keith looks over at him and sees that his cheeks have flushed, but it could just be the cold. Something about how he keeps looking upwards tells him its more than that, though. Keith pushes Shiro with a mischievous grin, making him almost veer off the path, and Shiro does the same but weaker. 

“I didn’t tell you because I was nervous. I was so nervous. And unsure, like talking about it would make it real,” Shiro explains, lifting up a hand to scratch at the back of his head, readjust the fluorescent beanie. “And it was nice to see you have a crush on someone. I want that for you, Keith. But, I really should meet him sometime, after hearing you wax poetic left and right—” 

“Oh my god,” Keith mumbles under his breath, but he supposes Shiro’s right. “It’s your turn now, asshole. Spill,” he says with no bite, lifting his brows at Shiro, words getting choppier with more inhalations. 

“Goddamn it,” Shiro replies, making a show by rolling his eyes though his face is giddy, eyes brighter even just thinking about Lotor. Keith finds himself grinning, too. “He’s great, actually. Really… down to earth. He’s funny, but not outwardly, like… clever. Very clever,” Shiro elaborates, looking down to his running shoes with this dopey little smirk on his face that Keith’s never seen before. It makes his heart feel so light, seeing his friend this dumb over someone. He wonders if Shiro thought the same thing of him. 

“Oh, man,” Keith says, lifting his hand to brush his sweaty bangs out of his forehead. “And he’s a grad student? Jesus. He seems alright, though. And… totally your type. You think he’s hot?” He cuts his grin in Shiro’s direction, glad to see his sharp cheekbones flush. 

“Yes,” Shiro expounds, making Keith burst out laughing. “I didn’t think I’d be into tattoo sleeves, but… I definitely am. 100%.” 

“Bad boy.” 

“Totally.” 

“How bad we talking?” Keith asks like it’s Official Business, which it completely is. No doubt. He needs details, the whole run-down, top to bottom, backwards and forwards. He slows down jogging and Shiro does the same, clomping his feet toward a park bench to lean against for a short break. “Fuck on the first date bad? Good?” he scrunches his face up with the messed up wording. 

Shiro actually chokes on his breath, coughing and gasping as he leans forward, putting a hand on his knee. “Keith!” he says aghast. “God, no. But… touching. Lots of that.” 

Keith, honest to god, gasps. “Shiro, I cannot believe…,” he gapes at him with total surprise, the mere insinuation from _Shiro_ —who’s got self-preservation up to his ears and a treasure trove of insecurities to match Keith’s—that he may have been diddled or did the diddling with Lotor… it’s a small shock. But no less exciting. “With Lotor? Really? Wow. What’s his dick like?” 

“ _Keith_!” Shiro breaks down into giggles, shoving snow from the seat of the park bench onto him so a clump smacks his thigh. “I was never this prying with you about Hunk.” 

“Yeah, well, you were raised with manners,” Keith jokes, pulling the sweaty hair off the back of his neck and shivering when the cool air hits his skin. “We also haven’t gone on a date. Or even implied one. Or, like… never mind.” 

Shiro just smiles at him, hands on his hips as he catches his breath, chest heaving. It’s truly unfair how effortlessly gorgeous Shiro looks even while jogging, and goddamn it, Lotor doesn’t even know how lucky he is. Not even a smidge. An old ache that’s long been healed in Keith’s chest singes just thinking of Shiro with someone else, someone whom he hopes realizes all the good things about him, someone to treat him well, but he thinks it’s mostly a good feeling. Shiro’s an adult and he doesn't need Keith haranguing him, but he’s happy for him, and he’ll still fight for Shiro and stick by him, no matter what happens. After getting more details out of him, of course. 

“So he’s got a good dick, then,” Keith says evenly, enjoying the dismissive roll of Shiro’s eyes. Shiro huffs and gestures with his head to start jogging again, and Keith jumps up to lope easily next to him, grinning toothily all the while. 

“We are _not_ talking about this. What we _can_ talk about, though, is how you always effectively avoid talking about how _you_ want to go on a date. Do stuff. Don’t lie,” Shiro says, looking forward like he knows all Keith’s vibes with utter conviction. Keith can barely even grumble about it because he’s right. So fucking right. As usual. 

“I guess,” he says instead, his stomach doing all sorts of topsy-turvy shit before he smashes it all down and picks up a handful of snow to throw at Shiro’s chest. “Shut up, dude, this was supposed to be about your actual date with Lotor! Tell me about it! I don’t know anything about him and he probably thinks I’m a massive asshole when I actually met him. What did you guys do? Where’d you go?” 

Shiro laughs and brushes the icy flecks off his white sweatshirt, hopping over a fallen tree limb easily without a missed stride. “Pretty sure he doesn’t think that, but. Why you wanna know so bad, Keith? Huh?” Shiro pushes him a little, making Keith step in a shallow cold puddle with a weasley little giggle. Teasing Shiro has arrived. “Want some tips? Finally gonna ask Hunk out? What’s the plan?” 

“I swear to god, I’m gonna fuckin’—hey! Shiro!” Keith yelps when a snowball explodes on his shoulder, his friend breaking out in a triumphant battle cry before bolting up the path. “You’re gonna regret that!” 

Keith chases after him, taking fast turns and cutting across snowy meadows, launching twigs and snow after him as he goes. Shiro dodges and ducks away from each one, cackling the whole way out of the park, gaining yards and yards ahead of Keith. He slows to a jog once he loses sight of Shiro, panting for breath, but the exit to the park is near and he sees Shiro waiting for him when he catches up. 

They get coffee together at the chain cafe across the street, and Shiro tells him a little more about Lotor; about the direct attention he always gives his coursework, his eloquent writing style that somehow manages to steal Shiro’s heart away when he lets him edit his thesis, about their similar military backgrounds. His spicy yet floral cologne, the quirky cufflinks he changes out every day, how he covers his smile with his hand half the time, and Keith quickly learns not to ask Shiro about his tattoos. Because Shiro? Could literally wax poetic for a year about them. 

“I only saw a glimpse of the knife on his arm, but jesus, Keith, it was so… so finely detailed. It looked like an Indian koftgari dagger, twined with a snake. Flower petals. Right on his bicep, Keith,” Shiro plasters his hand to his forehead, pushing up his white forelock, eyes wide and bedazzled like he was seeing the truth of life for the first time. “I saw it for a second before he fixed his shirt. It was so _nice_.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith says with mock disgust, lightly kicking Shiro’s shin under the table. “You’re the worst.” 

Shiro doesn’t seem to hear him as he continues in the same dreamy tone “Don’t get me started on his research, though. How he talks about it. He’s like a duke, Keith. I swear he literally is. He’s got all this knowledge, so readily available just in his head. He’s so smart,” Shiro groans and makes a terribly dramatic grimace, but his mouth curls up on the ends and Keith can’t help but laugh, reflect and just find it all absolutely _hilarious_ how the tables have turned. 

“He sounds nice,” Keith murmurs, sipping his black coffee across the small table, hardly minding the sun in his eyes. “Looks like we’re in the same boat, you and I.”

Shiro straightens in his chair, fiddling mindlessly with the sleeve of his paper cup, metal fingers tracing the cardboard. He tilts his head and lifts his cup, raising a brow. Keith knocks their cups together with a dumb salute and Shiro laughs into his coffee as he drinks. 

As he walks home from his morning coffee and jog to shower and head to his first class, he sends off a terribly mushy and mildly flirtatious good morning text to Hunk. Just because he’s feeling a little positive and gushy and gross. He’s allowed that. He’s only a little embarrassed by how he sounds. 

**Me [Today 8:00 AM]:  
** Good morning :) Sun’s not as bright as you 

He doesn’t think he’s ever sent a good morning text to anyone, but he thinks Hunk would be deserving of one, after all the sappy things he makes Keith feel. He also kinda maybe sorta wanted to imagine Hunk’s reaction to getting a text like that. It makes him grin like a goddamn fool as he unlocks his apartment. 

Something about the jog, the coffee or the sunlight, talking of certain boys, has Keith’s blood thrumming particularly thick. It’s probably a culmination of things; from his leggings rubbing on him in just the right way, slowly peeling off his shirt and sports bra, feeling the glide of fabric over dewy, heated skin, tracing the sinew in his arms, his legs. Weeks of pent-up need, watching broad brown hands write and gesture, _holding_ those hands… once he’s inside the shower, Keith reacquaints himself with his body, steaming hot water pelting his back and soothing the aches. 

With eyes shut, he remembers just how sensitive his nipples are, something he used to be bothered by but doesn’t mind anymore, tracing the shape of his small breasts and the patch of fuzz between, parts of himself he’s learned to live with on good days, and today’s a particularly good day. He wonders what it’d be like for nimble, slightly rough hands bigger than his own to cup his chest, gently squeeze. His knees nearly knock together just thinking about it, about finally being in a place where that would be arousing for him, turning up the water on the dial as he slides a hand south. 

Keith’s other hand holds him steady against the tiled wall of the shower, one foot on the lip of the tub, tracing his fingers between his legs, up and down the slit, biting his lip and fighting with himself to not think of different hands doing the same thing. Different, thicker, fingers touching, dipping, rolling and rubbing so carefully, a quiet, deep and kind voice asking if he likes it, if it’s okay. Keith telling _him_ just to touch, not to look, it’s fine, it’s _good_ , so good, please keep going. He loses the fight when he gasps out sharply, the noise echoing in the shower and bouncing off the curtain, shivers raining down his spine as he finds the spot that needed itching. It doesn’t take much after that, thinking of lips on his neck, a soft body and secure arms wrapped around him as the water washes everything away. 

Just after Keith gets out of the shower, sated and energized with legs slightly wobbly, he sees his phone on his bathroom counter buzzing. He lets the towel flop over his wet hair as he opens the _multiple_ texts he’s received from the very same boy. 

******Hunk ☼ [Today 8:37 AM]:  
** Omg. You’re so cute. I can’t.  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:39 AM]:  
** Good morning back, shortcake. Nothing shines  
as bright as you, though.  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:39 AM]:  
** Not even close. 

If Keith ends up shouting in his bathroom and doing a quick spin that takes off the towel around his waist, well, Hobbs would be the only one who’d matter. He meows up at Keith before hopping up onto the bathroom counter, curling his tail around Keith’s wrist who’s just staring at his phone, gaping and flushing and trying not to think about how the butterflies have been shaken awake in his stomach. 

“Holy shit. What a sap. He’s so lame…,” Keith complains but it doesn’t make the mark, told by the elated wiggling his heart refuses to stop doing. 

**Me [Today 8:40 AM]:  
** Shortcake, huh? Are you beefcake then  


Fuck. So risky. But Keith sends it off without a second thought and pushes his palms against his face, cackling to himself. He’s gotta ruin it and make it dumb somehow because the cute he cannot handle. He finally picks up his towel to wrap it back around his hips, scrubbing the other one over his head furiously to make it dry faster, picking his comb through the knots. Looking at himself in the damp mirror, Keith takes leaps and bounds to convince himself the flush on his cheeks was from the steam and the scorching hot water in the shower. Hobbs even rubs his face on his phone screen after staring at him as if calling him on his bullshit. 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:43 AM]:  
** I’ll let it slide only if its coming from you ;)  
Dork. This cute stuff doesn’t stop here, I promise.  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:43 AM]:  
** Wanna meet up between classes today?  
I have some Space Stuff to show you.  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:44 AM]:  
** Because you sparkle like the stars. 

**Me [Today 8:45 AM]:  
** Please tell me Lance didn’t send that. 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:46 AM]:  
** ****Are you kidding? I’m OFFENDED  
you’d think I’d get all my lines from him.  
**Hunk ☼ [Today 8:47AM]:  
** Is it working??  <<

********

**Me [Today 8:47 AM]:  
** Shut up you’re gonna make me late.  
**Me [Today 8:47 AM]:  
** Also yes.  
**Me [Today 8:48 AM]:  
** 11 in Dos Santos.

Keith has the second jog of the day just trying to get to class at a reasonable time. He’s eight minutes late but he’s hardly noticed as he slides into his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall, though it was well worth it even if he has to subtly readjust his binder from inching up over his chest. He sneakily opens his phone while pulling out his notebooks to see Hunk has sent him several sunglasses emojis (Keith has long accepted that is his favorite one) and clapping hands, along with a few yellow hearts sprinkled in. 

He honestly wonders how he could get so giddy from just a simple text conversation, but he rereads it several times. Somehow he learns some new things in class even while his brain is somewhere else. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh. Next chapter is gonna be guuuud. 
> 
> I apologize for the long delay on this chapter, i just couldn’t get enough written beforehand to comfortably post this chapter with a nice buffer zone. Also, I made a post abt this on my tumblr, but i’m not a writer by ‘trade’, so i’m literally writing this by the seat of my pants. Chapter by a chapter. i have an end goal in mind but that doesn’t mean it could get wonky and !! in between :’D that said, thank you EVERYONE for your kind support, kudos and comments mean everything to me!! I deeply, deeply appreciate it <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time well spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGH I can't believe it's been a month since I've updated this :'0 I apologize, something about the summer makes my brain fizzle and dry up like overcooked marshmallows. But... this chapter is probably one of my favorites, and long awaited. 
> 
> One song I listened on repeat over and over is [ Outer Space by G feat. Genevieve.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuzPQMrHaKE)
> 
> Also, this takes off right from the end of the last chapter! Thank you, safe travels!

Keith bursts out of his lecture hall almost as soon as the professor lets them out, pushing all his shit in his backpack and hightailing it out of there. He marginally keeps his cool by not booking it down the halls, but the way he weaves around packs of girls and slowly lumbering dudes, he probably looks like he’s late for a teacher’s appointment. He doesn’t care, though, not even an inch. 

How Hunk manages to be so punctual is beyond him, because Keith sees him down the main hall when he gets to Dos Santos, milling about probably looking for a place to sit before their next classes. He sees the strap of his brown leather messenger bag and his mop of unruly black hair that is in juxtaposition to his neat clothes all the time, every day, and Keith’s heart does a little cartwheel. God, it’s unfair how good he looks, fitted jeans and slick sneakers and sweater with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms with the warm day. Hunk should wear red, or burgundy or maroon or whatever color it is, more often.

He finds his steps slowing as he gets closer to him, nervously fingering the hem of his jean jacket sleeve, deciding to roll it up twice as a low burning sweat clings to him. Just as he’s doing the second sleeve Hunk turns and Keith watches his face break out into a grin, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approaches. 

“I was just about to ask where you’d like to meet,” Hunk says, and he looks Keith up and down briefly in a way he probably think is subtle but completely isn’t, but it’s lighthearted, kind. 

“This is fine,” Keith says, his voice coming out thick and gargling. He clears his throat awkwardly and gestures with his head to the seating area off to the side behind some kind of artistic sculpture meant to show the solar system, but Keith remembers one of the freshman taking Uranus, writing some defacing words on it, and putting it on Iverson’s desk last year. The planet still isn’t back in its rightful place, but Keith doesn’t get a chance to tell Hunk the story before he’s getting pulled into a hug, big arms wrapping around his shoulders, neither firm nor loose. 

It takes Keith a moment to realize that his nose reaches the crook of Hunk’s neck perfectly, right where it meets his shoulder, and his cologne is strong there, like he put it on an hour ago. The second thing he realizes with a fell swoop of his heart, is that he’s never hugged Hunk before. What the fuck. He’s been missing out big time. 

His chest is softer than it looks—everything softer than it looks—and he’s so warm, like sunshine after a rainshower. Keith’s hugged several people in his lifetime, and he’s noticed that some of them were jilting, awkward and stiff. Just… weird hugs. He’s probably that person. But Hunk isn’t; he’s comfortable, like he knows what he’s doing, like he’s learned how to give good hugs after a seminar on the perfect embrace, like he's had a lifetime of hugs from doting mothers. It’s insane. Keith slowly lifts his arms up to hug him back after a stupid amount of time has passed, but Hunk doesn’t seem to mind, just squeezes him a little closer, smiles into his hair. 

Slowly, Hunk lowers his arms, putting his hands on Keith’s shoulders before dropping them, one coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Sorry… weird timing?” he huffs out, and his cheeks have taken on a slight flush. Keith’s still dealing with the pack of kittens rolling around in his stomach to call him on it, finding that he wants to hug him again. Several more times, actually. 

“No. Not at all. I… I don’t mind,” Keith murmurs, standing an inch or two away from Hunk, trying desperately not to remember that he had just thought of him _in the shower_ barely three hours ago to make it even more awkward. Now, he’s a bumbling mess, wondering where his confidence over text had gone. “You smell really nice.” 

Oh, god. Did he just say that? There are people passing by them and he just said that. Wow. 

Hunk scuffs the toe of his shoe in the laminate, ducking his face like he does when he smiles. “Thanks. I think. You too.” 

Now it’s Keith’s turn to look away, biting down on his lip. Hearing he smells good is a compliment he didn’t think he’d ever get, but he’ll take it. Hunk turns to start walking to the chairs across the hall and Keith follows in step next to him, tugging on his backpack strap and subtly re-adjusting his striped shirt so it hugs his narrow hips closer, having liked the way Hunk had looked at him earlier. 

“Okay, you wanna hear some cool space stuff?” Hunk asks, lifting his brows as he drops unceremoniously onto a two-person couch, pulling his bag into his lap. Keith feels a burst of giddiness that Hunk so readily gives him the opportunity to sit close, because there’s several seating options available, but nope, he picked the couch. It’s not like he’s going to cuddle him like some of the other people he’s seen on campus, especially not so publicly, but the insinuation is there.

“Hell yeah,” Keith says and swings his backpack off to drop it onto the floor at his feet, sitting right next to Hunk without a care in the goddamn world, propping his feet up on the ottoman in front of them. “Tell me Star Trek isn’t far off.” 

Hunk chuckles and pulls out a manila folder that seems ominous at first, but inside is just a bunch of blueprints and prototypes, memos and letters and pictures. “Not Star Trek, but some stuff Matt let me keep. Engines and dashboard controls. Apparently…,” Hunk says, leaning sideways to nudge Keith even though they’re already touching hip to shoulder, his eyes narrowing with a funny, devious little curl to his mouth. “There’s designs for imaging reflector panels on the outside of the crafts. Mostly for satellite drones.” 

Keith’s brows shoot up into his hair, slipping a sheet out from the folder. “To make them invisible?” 

“Yeah, and heat or cold resilient. And kinda like solar panels. But the designs were too flimsy and too expensive to produce, and capitalists wouldn’t get much to put them on commercial aircraft right away, so of course it was tabled. But in the long run would've economical, you know? Also, look at this,” Hunk points to a blueprint of a jet dashboard. “Aerodynamic as hell.”

Keith snorts, eyes roving over the sheet, impressed and kind of excited to be looking at all this pseudo-official stuff. He took a summer part-time job at the space and flight museum in the city last year, and he really liked being around all the mechanics and crafts and the history of everything, and the admittedly shitty flight simulator of an F-18 Hornet, but he didn’t see stuff like this; all these designated manufacturer layouts and proposed controls and engine types. Hunk had even brought designs for rovers, for the actual surface of Mars and asteroids, which were insanely awesome and intricate and far more complicated than Keith imagined.

They flip through the folder together, gawking at some of the ridiculous things, like mock-up models for some kind of cat-like manually-operated air-to-land machines. Hunk tells him about the designs he’s seen and the sizeable books of calculations he’s glimpsed, going off on tangents about the compositions of some galaxies discovered, asteroids spotted by the Garrison’s deep-space satellites. He shows him pictures upon pictures of all variations of stars, constellations, galaxies and dust clouds, some artificially colored but all of them beautiful and breathtaking in their largeness and impossibility. Keith runs his fingers over a picture, one mottled with a million white pinpricks and smudged in blues and greens, imagining the grain on the page was each star under his fingertips, as easily moved as sand over the sidewalk. 

“This is really cool,” Keith says quietly, something shimmering deep in his chest looking at the array of galaxies far beyond human reach but observable with the craft that Hunk gets to learn with. It hits him subtly, then, that Hunk is really fucking smart, and really fucking lucky, and really gracious in sharing this with Keith on a whim. When he looks sideways at him, Hunk’s staring distantly at the picture with Keith’s fingers still splayed over it, and with a small curl to his mouth, he looks just as awed and yearning as Keith feels. It’s a unique revelation to see a mirror reflection in someone else’s face just by looking at pictures of the stars. Something small yet huge at the same time, like settling in a place he never thought he’d find. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Hunk says softly in response, and when he looks back at Keith, sparks fly across his skin, zinging and gentle as feathers. 

Keith takes several self-indulgent glances at Hunk while he talks, his eyes bright and wide as he animatedly tells him things, broken down into simple layman’s logic spattered with advanced scientific vernacular. Keith just falls quiet and listens, smiling and nodding along, something about seeing Hunk so excited about things he likes, that they both like, makes his body warm. Makes him dizzy and grounded all at once, this new place he’s found, Hunk beside him just as easy and unassuming as before but there’s something else there, too. Keith can tell. Words that have sat patiently on his tongue until now want to push forth, gnawing at his teeth, but his voice stays cinched. He doesn’t trust himself to speak. 

Hunk had his feet up on the ottoman next to Keith’s for the better part of an hour but he puts them on the floor as he looks at his phone for the time. They both have class in a few minutes, but Keith stays rooted to the spot even though his next lecture is in another building. Hunk puts away the blueprints and papers and pictures into the folder, slides them in his bag, and puts his elbow on the back of the couch by Keith’s shoulder. He likes the way he’s turned to him too much, Keith leaned back and almost underneath him, Hunk all broad shoulders and soft sloping curves. He likes it way too much. 

“Well. I don’t want to go to class. Never thought I'd say it,” Hunk says, his mouth a small bashful smile. His other hand finds Keith’s knee and the lick of flame that blossoms right in between his hips is dangerously near to heading lower. He gulps and doesn’t think about showers. Except he does. 

“I don’t either,” he says, and he’s halfway to embarrassed by how hoarse his voice sounds. Still, it earns him Hunk’s look down to his mouth, his thumb running small circles into his knee. 

Shit. 

He could just kiss him. Who gives a damn about people milling about in the hall? There’s no one immediately nearby. He wants to. He really wants to, has thought about it more times than he can count. He even puts his hand on Hunk’s exposed forearm, tries to relax into the couch, looks to his mouth too. 

“Can I ask you something?” Hunk inquires, voice low and secret. Keith’s spine turns to jelly from that, just straight up strawberry preserves. He still can’t talk so he makes a hum of acknowledgement, letting his eyes wander the sharp bend of his jaw, looking freshly shaven. The silence Hunk lets on is maddening, like he _knows_ and he’s doing this to Keith on purpose. 

“Yeah?” Keith asks to speed him along, itching in curiosity, a wire about to snap in his chest. 

Hunk just laughs, twinkling and amused. He squeezes Keith’s knee for his trouble. “Do you prefer rosé or champagne?” 

Keith blinks, feeling like whiplash just spun his head around. “Rosé or—what? Why?”

Hunk’s grin just grows, lifting a brow behind the rim of his glasses. “Just curious. Do you work this weekend?”

Keith’s jaw drops, releasing Hunk’s wrist and feeling a very distinct urge to slap his arm. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief. He was _this_ close to thinking Hunk was gonna lay one on him but nope, he gets asked about sparkling wine. “I don’t actually. It’s my weekend off. Why d’you wanna know?” He replies a bit more curt than he means. 

Hunk shrugs and looks completely self-satisfied as he sits up straight, taking his hand off his knee, but something in his eyes looks mischievous. Planning. Scheming. Keith’s not sure what to think about it, this playful side of him. “Just wondering if you wanted to come over this weekend. Hang out. Maybe. If you were free.” 

“I _am_ free, to reiterate.” 

“Cool. Super cool. So do you want to? Come over? Play Cards Against Humanity?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Keith says forcefully, biting down on the stupid grin that pushes at his mouth as he sits up. He can’t give Hunk that satisfaction yet, putting on a show of being mildly irritated too fun. 

“You didn’t answer my question, though,” Hunk stops him with a hand on his back, right in between his shoulders before Keith can swing his backpack on. He belatedly notices how light his touch his, almost careful, wary for what he probably remembers is underneath his layers of clothes. Keith deeply appreciates that more than he can explain, but he’s too busy looking at how Hunk is so elated, bright and seeming to burst at the seams with his wide grin and humor. “I’m really curious.” 

Keith lifts a brow in his direction, flattening him with a look. “I haven’t had either. Since I don’t spend my time wine-tasting with charcuterie boards.” 

Hunk breaks into a burst of laughter, unaffected by his glare, and Keith can’t help but do the same. “Alright, alright. Good to know.” Keith stands and Hunk follows, nudging his elbow into Keith’s side for good measure. “Get to class, shortcake. Don’t be too late.” 

Keith wishes he was still sitting when he says that, because it’s entirely one thing getting it over text and a whole other bag of cats to hear it. He swerves his gaze up to Hunk’s eyes and god, the smarmy look on his face deserves an infuriating kiss or a hearty punch to the shoulder. One of those Keith can freely give, and Hunk reels back with a snort of laughter when his fist loosely collides with his bicep. 

“Angry shortcake. Spicy habañero cake,” Hunk quips with a cute rippling laugh, catching the next toss of Keith’s fist. He’s grinning by the time he pulls Keith in for another hug, still chuckling into his hair, squeezing tight around his ribs this time. Keith’s hands come up a bit faster to press into his back, feel the dip of his spine. 

“You’re the worst,” Keith says into his sweater, breathing him in, and doesn’t mean a word by it. 

“I know,” Hunk replies, and by impulse or desire, kisses Keith’s forehead halfway between pulling back. He stiffens a little too late, stepping away an inch, and his smile is much more subdued when Keith flicks his eyes up, both their faces flushed like they were out in the sun. 

“We’re both gonna be late,” Keith wheezes out instead of the other things he wants to say, other things he wants to do. Hunk just shrugs, his eyes fixed on Keith, looking at him from under thick lashes. 

“Time well spent, isn’t that how it goes?” Hunk replies, a touch nervously, eyes glancing around the empty hallway and seating area before he lifts his hand to tuck some hair behind Keith’s ear, touch a knuckle to his cheekbone. 

Keith takes a deep breath in delighted surprise, watching every nuance in his face, that wire pulled taut again and it makes his stomach flop over itself. Hunk smiles, perhaps a bit shakily, but his shoulders are set and comfortable, and the look he gives Keith steels him to his spot, makes his throat tight. 

“I kinda like you a lot, Keith. I really do. Who cares about being late,” Hunk finally says, low and even, smiling crookedly toward the end. 

There’s a faint buzzing between Keith’s ears as he processes, mulls it over and absorbs. He feels his eyes widen, his chest expanding with all those galaxies and stars, heart thundering in his ears as he just looks at him. The earnestness is so clear on Hunk’s face, the smile that seems to grow as time inches on, feeling the weight of Hunk’s hand on his shoulder. Hunk even huffs out something like a nervous laugh but Keith hardly hears it over the bees knocking around in his head, tickling out over his skin. 

It takes no time at all to grab Hunk by his bag strap, rise up on the balls of his feet to meet him halfway for a rather uncoordinated kiss, completely on autopilot. He’s hasty and he forgot about teeth existing behind his lips, more concerned with getting his lips on Hunk’s lips to care. Hunk makes a noise of surprise, nose pressed to Keith’s cheek, but he rallies quickly, the hand on his shoulder coming up to Keith’s jaw to hold his face to kiss him back, fixing it this time. 

Honey drips down every part of Keith when Hunk slots their mouths together, slow and easy and unhurried, keeping it innocent and soft yet Keith can feel his restraint, his desire in how he can barely part for breath. How his hand presses to his cheek feather-light, fingertips barely grazing the soft hairs in front of his ear, while Hunk’s other hand comes up to his bicep, keeps him close. Keith shudders in his grasp, fingers curling tight around the strap of his bag, his lungs burning for air but it feels so good, so spell-binding, to kiss him like this.

Slowly, Hunk releases his lips with a sweet pop, resting their brows together, and Keith’s other hand wraps around his wrist, pressing his fingers into the tendons on the underside, running his thumb over his knuckles. He just breathes, lips kiss-wet and tingling even as he feels like his world is gonna tip over and fold, but Hunk is steady. Solid. 

“I like you, too,” Keith murmurs after a few long moments, unwilling to open his eyes so soon, his lashes brushing Hunk’s skin. The confession leaves him in a gust, a gale, and what’s left behind is something lovely, something he hasn’t felt in an age or two. 

He feels the breath of laughter across his mouth before Hunk’s lips pull into a smile, shifting his hand to gently push over Keith’s hair, bringing his hand around to cup the back of his neck. “I’ve been… wanting that for awhile. I’m… I’m. Wow,” Hunk’s words come out jilted, bewildered, but he settles. Keith doesn’t mind, grinning because he doesn’t ramble, doesn’t unleash a torrent of words. He supposes that says something about Hunk feeling the same way as him. 

“Yeah,” Keith hums knowingly, his nose brushing Hunk’s cheek before he manages to pull away, looking at him shyly through his bangs and taking in the hue of his cheeks. He’s unable to take his smile off his face when Hunk just keeps looking at him, seeing stars swirl around in his eyes. 

“So, uh… you wanna skip class?” Hunk asks, glancing at his watch, thumb rubbing over Keith’s jacket where he still holds his bicep comfortingly. 

It’s probably too late to show up in the middle of lecture, anyway. _Who cares_. 

“Hell yeah,” Keith says with utter conviction, taking the strap of Hunk’s bag again, picking up his backpack still at his feet and pulling Hunk away from the all the chairs and couches to bring him to the cafeteria. 

Hunk laughs as he follows, one hand in his pocket and the other brushing fingers over Keith’s wrist subtly, bumping their knuckles together. Each pass sends sparks up his spine but he pretends it doesn’t. He doesn’t do such a great job at it, since Hunk keeps glancing at him sideways. 

Sometime later, outside in the dappled sunlight under the campus trees, lunch on the table between them, he finds Hunk brushing a thumb over his bottom lip when he thinks Keith isn’t looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, I hope everyone enjoyed!! :'D xox


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The library is a good place to uhh, find some abandoned stacks.

**Ugh Lance [Today 2:45 PM]:**  
Dude what have you done to Hunk

**Me [Today 2:58 PM]:**  
What 

********

**Ugh Lance [Today 2:59 PM]:**  
He is literally driving me insane. I can’t  
leave my room without him yelling about  
me making footprints in the vacuumed carpet.  
Going into the kitchen for snacks is  
practically forbidden

 **Me [Today 3:09 PM]:**  
Don’t walk on the carpet then

 **Ugh Lance [Today 3:10 PM]:**  
You don’t understand!!! This is a New Hunk  
I haven’t witnessed before!!! Its Wednesday  
and he’s already going batshit about Friday  
**Ugh Lance [Today 3:11 PM]:**  
Which you better not bail on!!! or I will literally  
kill you and then haunt your ghost

 **Me [Today 3:20 PM]:**  
That’s not how that works

 **Ugh Lance [Today 3:21 PM]:**  
Whatever!!!! Be there for be fuckin’ square

Keith shakes his head and rubs his fingers over his eyelids, tired and strained from reading and writing insane numerical equations for the last three hours. He sets his phone onto the table with a clatter, staring blankly at his array of notebooks and manuals and some textbooks from the library shelves, soul withering in his bodily vessel. Ever since finding out that Lance and Hunk were indeed roommates, Lance has found it endlessly hilarious accompanied with a heightened need to text him more than usual, which Keith doesn’t really care for. Especially not when he’s trying to study and cram as much o-chem and physics in his brain as possible, which, notably, is a lot harder without Hunk. He just has a way of saying things that Keith likes. 

Even though it’s Wednesday, their usual tutoring session (which is probably just a flimsy explanation to hang out together at this point), Hunk was asked to help someone else on calc. He was apologetic over text telling Keith he wouldn’t show up until later, which was very sweet of him, but Keith wasn’t his keeper and told him it was fine, he’d still be in the library, anyway. But he finds it hilarious that Hunk was still tormenting Lance over who knows what. 

**Ugh Lance [Today 3:30 PM]:**  
Keith. He’s having me clean cabinets  
I never knew we had. I’m doing this  
for you. FOR HUNK

And then Lance sends him a picture of a wall cabinet in the bathroom with his hand holding a dust bunny. Keith looks at it for all of five seconds before typing back a response:

 **Me [Today 3:30 PM]:**  
You should be doing that anyway. Do  
you ever clean?

 **Ugh Lance [Today 3:32 PM]: **  
**** Cold. Real cold, man. I clean all the time  
for your information!! But because you’re  
coming over suddenly we have to deep  
clean the grout. That we don’t even own!!  >:(

********

Keith sniggers, mostly because Lance’s drama never ceases and on the rare occasion it can be funny. And because he also likes to tease him when he’s in his Moods.

 **Me [Today 3:33 PM]:**  
I have extra toothbrushes

He sends it off with a self-satisfied smirk, paging through his notebook to recap some things, and looks to his phone when it flashes, humored to see Lance has sent him several water gun emojis. He ignores the text for now and goes to change the song, scrolling through for a better one. He starts playing a Phoenix-inspired playlist recommended to him on a whim, and soon he goes through song after song before realizing the time. 

He’s powered through four units of o-chem when the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and a bottle of juice-looking stuff is placed in front of him along with a snack-sized bag of Goldfish. He jumps up straight to see Pidge sliding into the seat in front of him, chattering about something but he can’t hear what she’s saying until he pulls out his earbuds. 

“...so I ran here looking for that godforsaken book that I need for this stupid, cursed paper, and just barely met the library lady before she took it away. They’re so fuckin’ fast putting these books away, dude, the efficiency is irritating but admirable,” Pidge expounds hotly, holding her longboard in one arm and gesticulating with the other, flopping down into the seat. “Can you believe this dedication, Keith? For some bullshit communications paper?” 

Keith lifts an eyebrow, smiling halfway in disbelief and exhausted humor, covering a yawn with the back of his hand. “Wow. I’m impressed. Also surprised.” 

Pidge fixes her glasses and hooks her longboard wheels onto the back of the chair next to her, shouldering off her backpack straps. She puts her elbows onto some of the papers Keith has laid out in front of her, ripping open the Goldfish bag and dumping some into her hand robotically. 

“Same here, man. I hate being on campus this late. Sorry I didn’t get you anything at the store. I was about to pass out from the hunger sweats,” Pidge says before throwing some Goldfish into her mouth, eyes half-lidded in the same weariness Keith feels. 

He just shrugs, tapping his pen to the notebook in front of him. Pidge chews a little noisily but it’s another Pidge-thing he’s learned to ignore, reading some more paragraphs and going through the equations silently. Unprompted, Pidge asks him about his longboard, if he ever got the new wheels he needed last year, and upon confirmation she declares they need to go longboarding together sometime. There’s some really cool paved trails outside of town that they liked to frequent in the summer, really easy hills and turns and prairie scenery, ponds that birds and deer liked to visit. He agrees. And then he wonders if Hunk has ever longboarded before, if he should show him sometime. He thinks it might be fun, but the thought of Hunk owning it on a Land Yacht has his insides quivering. He’s still thinking about _kissing_ him, and now this? His brain’s gonna short out. Overloaded. 

“So,” Pidge says, capping the lid to her juice. “Where’s loverboy, huh? Thought he’d be here today.” 

Keith rolls his eyes but can’t fight the slight flush to his cheeks at her wording. Goddamn, it’s like everyone in a twenty foot radius of him knows. “Who?”

“Shut the hell up, Keith,” Pidge deadpans, giving him a kick in the shin for his troubles. He resists the urge to do the same back but he does flick his paper football at her, pleased when it hits her chin. “ _Hunk_. Where’s Hunk at?” She clarifies with a bit of a growl, picking up the football in her lap and twisting it on it’s corners.

Keith doesn’t bother to thank her for her leniency, holding his thumb and pointer fingers up in a half square shape to resemble a goal post. “He’s tutoring someone. Said he might stop by,” he replies, not meeting her gaze as she flicks the football toward his hands but misses by a few inches. 

“Really,” Pidge retorts without an inch of surprise, holding up her hands in the same way when Keith picks up the football from the floor. “Allura asked me if I wanted to hang out with her, Lance and Hunk on Friday. Mentioned your possible, much-anticipated arrival. Like you were an exchange student from fuckin’ Latvia or something,” she chuckles at that, giving Keith a pointed look through her glasses. “You going?”

Keith finds himself smirking a little, his heart doing a few spins in his chest. “Yeah, I’m going,” he answers, tone even and not giving away a hint of the excitement he feels brewing in his chest, “I think Hunk has something planned. I don’t know what, though.” He tries to sound casual, almost bored, but he feels his whole façade shatter when he flicks the football and makes a goal. 

“Oh?” Pidge leers, smirking too, and slowly reaches for the football that fell in her lap. “Something planned, you say? Do tell.” 

“Like I said, I don’t know,” Keith repeats, catching the football when Pidge misses again. “He asked if I liked champagne or rosé? Aren’t they the same?” he asks almost to himself, furrowing his brows and trying to recall what the liquor store shelves look like. He hasn’t visited one in a long time, but when he does, he goes straight for the bourbon section. Otherwise it’s all beer and craft shit. He’s been through the wine section exactly three times whenever Shiro was browsing or Pidge needed something for a party. 

Pidge immediately snorts and drops her hands to the desk with a slam, cackling and dipping her head as if it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “ _Champagne_? He asked you about that? He hates that stuff. Why don’t you know this?”

Keith splays his hands out. “How am I supposed to know? I have no idea,” he replies back in a harsh whisper, halfway offended like _he’s_ supposed to know things about Hunk’s tastes of wines. Which apparently he doesn’t even like! 

“What was he doing? Was he flirting with you?” Pidge asks pointedly, holding her hands up in a goal post again, mouth still curled deviously. He can practically hear the gears and cranks in her head turning. 

“He was, yeah. But he asked out of nowhere, so. I don’t know, Pidge. Why would he ask, then, huh? You tell me,” Keith flicks the football a little harder than necessary and it goes flying, leaving his fingernail stinging, but Pidge doesn’t even bother going to get it. She just crosses her arms and raises her brow at him, still giving him that look. 

She gives out a world-weary sigh. “He was totally messing with you. From what I’ve gathered, he drinks whiskies and beer. That’s so funny, though,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head and pushing up her glasses. “He pulled a fast one on you. Damn. I’m proud of him.”

“Oh my god,” Keith mutters under his breath, directing his gaze to his forgotten cram session chemistry hieroglyphics. 

“You know, Keith,” Pidge starts, pushing up her glasses, leaning forward again. “Just in case you haven’t gotten it yet, because it really seems like it—”

“Oh my god, _what_ ,” Keith groans, giving her an exasperated look. 

“That sounds like he wants to take you out for a date. Like. A real ass motherfuckin’ _date_ , Keith. Are you getting it now? It took you five months to realize that Hunk and Lance were roommates, so I must be the humble middleman to give your ass some slack,” she says, and when Keith looks up she’s still smiling wickedly, amber eyes full of mischief. 

“A date?” Keith says like it’s the dumbest idea in the world, but as soon as the words leave his mouth, it does sound… a little plausible. Suspicious. His head bursts in cottony flowers as he delves into the possibility, and his heart jumps up into the regions of his larynx. “Do you think so?” He whispers conspiratorially, leaning across his o-chem work. 

“Yeah. Definitely. I mean. Maybe?” Pidge whispers back, shrugging her backpack straps on over her shoulders. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear. What’s up, big guy?” 

Keith almost literally jumps out of his seat when a presence materializes next to him, his knees hitting the underside of the table and hands splaying over his work like he was trying to hide notations and aromatic formulas. Hunk has indeed appeared, pulling out the chair next to Keith and plopping down in it while Pidge snickers at his surprise. 

“Hey, Pidgeon,” Hunk greets in kind, lifting an eyebrow. “And Keith, my good sir,” he adds in a lilting British accent that has Pidge snorting. Keith just runs his hand through his hair and silently collects all his shit and files it away. _A motherfuckin’ date, huh?_ He thinks, his heart doing another series of cartwheels but he nobly stamps it out, though it’s a wasted effort when he sees that Hunk had forgone his glasses today. 

“Hey,” he says instead, surprisingly composed and even. “What’s up?”

Hunk shrugs, hands stuffed into his dark jean pockets, leaning back in the chair seat. “Breezy, easy. You know. Calc one stuff.”

“Piece of cake. Doesn’t even deserve a paycheck,” Pidge adds, snagging her longboard up in her arm. “Anyway, I’m gonna leave you two to it. I have some programming homework to finish up on and a Fortnite match to own. Peace out, losers.”

“Okay… bye…,” Hunk says with a lost wave, amused nonetheless when he makes eye contact with Keith, and together they laugh when Pidge puts her longboard on the ground in the middle of the library and skates on out, totally carefree. “I guess that’s that.” 

“I guess so,” Keith agrees, thumping his pen on his notebook, looking at Hunk through the corner of his eye. He feels his arm closest to Hunk tingling from just being this close to him since Monday, giddy and nervous in a fuzzy mix that leaves him unable to focus any longer. 

“How’s the cramming?” Hunk asks, sitting up and turned toward Keith at an angle, putting his cheek in a palm, elbow over the table. Keith raises a brow, trying his best to not ogle Hunk’s arms and how they look in his button-up. 

“It’s okay, I got a few units reviewed… thanks to your notes,” he flicks the corner of a sheet of paper, covered in Hunk’s neat scrawl and dioramic pictures. 

“Aw,” Hunk coos, teeth making indents into his lower lip. Keith is _not_ to be blamed when his eyes stray to the dusky color that’s left behind. “I can’t believe you actually found this helpful.” 

“I do, though,” Keith affirms. “You explain things in a way that makes sense, no bullshit. Just… makes it easier,” he feels his cheeks pinkening as he averts his eyes away, knowing Hunk is looking at him, sending a tendril of warmth over his back, his neck. “You’re a good tutor.” 

Hunk giggles and if there’s a tinge of nerves behind it Keith doesn’t fault him for it, glad he’s not the only one. “You’re sweet…,” Hunk says mostly to himself but Keith hears him anyway. “I like helping.” 

“And _that’s_ sweet,” Keith says, swinging his knee out a little to knock against Hunk’s under the table. He almost winces looking at himself from the outside, all this sugary, gooey interchange. When did he get so soft? “Okay, well, uh, I’m over this. This o-chem shit. Like eight years ago. I have to put this book away and get another one for physics.”

“Do you have the call number? I know the library like the back of my hand,” Hunk asks eagerly as Keith starts piling his notebooks and packets up, and Keith slides him a scrap of paper with the number written on it from the library’s database. “Sweet, second floor. Exciting. Love that section. Smells like nerds and dry shampoo.” 

Keith barks out a laugh, slipping his things into his backpack, winding his earbud cord into a neat bundle to tuck away in his pocket that will predictably become a rat’s nest later. “Interesting how you know that so well,” he says slyly, swinging on his backpack as he stands up. 

“Was that a jab? Good one,” Hunk chuckles, falling into stride next to Keith on the way to the stairs, a little bounce in his step. “But, no cigar. I don’t use dry shampoo.” 

“Lame,” Keith retorts jokingly. 

“It feels weird, man.” 

“If you keep touching it, maybe.” 

“I keep my look well maintained, thank you,” Hunk says playfully. “A bit of combing and it’s good. Perfectly disheveled. Zero effort.” 

Keith nods as he considers. “You gotta make up for it with bowties and wingtips. Makes sense,” Keith shrugs sardonically, his stomach doing several flips when Hunk laughs at his joke. There’s nothing like it to see him laugh, even at his own expense. 

“You’re funny, you know. You can act like you aren’t, but I know you are,” Hunk says decidedly as he takes the stairs ahead of Keith, turning a little to look at him. It takes Keith a little by surprise, gives him pause, because Hunk seems so convinced, so assured in something Keith never thought of himself. It’s strangely flattering, and it makes his ears burn a little, huffing out a scoff for show. 

“Right. You seem to know a lot of things,” Keith says, and regrets how surly he sounds. 

Hunk hums nonplussed, making a shrugging look kind of face as he puts his hand on the handrail. “Not really, but I’d like to know more,” he replies simply, hopping up onto the last step to the second floor. Keith thinks he means several things, and not all of them about hairstyling. 

“Like why you need an introductory physics book,” Hunk teases not a moment later, and Keith feels relieved for the change of subject. 

“It’s for a paper. I’ll probably use it just for the footnote,” Keith says, looking around the stacks for the right section. 

“A good tactic. Gotta make that bibliography look sharp,” Hunk comments, his voice so airy and bubbly. 

“What?” Keith asks, lifting a brow at him, wondering what he’s finding so funny or enjoyable about getting an old book with him in the library that was probably furnished from the 60s.

“Nothing!” Hunk holds his hands out, grinning widely. Keith just narrows his eyes. “I think it is a good idea, honestly. It could be more useful than you know.” 

Keith finds the approximate aisle for the book he’s looking for, neck prickled feeling like Hunk’s still planning _something_ , but he just follows behind quietly. Keith looks up and down the stacks, looking at the call number over and over to make sure he gets the right one, feeling like he’s close. 

Hunk ‘ooh’s’ and laughs as he pulls out a book from an upper shelf, flipping the cover over. “Wanna learn about alternate dimensions?”

“No,” Keith replies flatly, distracted. “Pidge has told me enough after getting too high once. Couldn’t stop thinking about my alternate selves for like a week straight.” 

Hunk blows out a quiet whistle and flips through the pages before putting it back where he found it. “I feel that,” he hums, and looks with Keith for the book he’s supposed to check out. “You find it?”

“Its nearby…,” Keith nibbles on his inner cheek, turning a little to look at a lower shelf while Hunk goes the opposite way. Keith doesn’t find the title or the call number so he huffs a bit indignantly, cursing the Dewey Decimal System libraries seem to think is so great to organize their goddamn books, turning to look on the other side of the aisle. 

Hunk seems to have the same idea at the split second Keith turns, and he knocks right into Hunk’s front, taking a small step back as he bounces off but Hunk’s hand flies out to grasp his waist instinctively, the other around his backpack strap. He stiffens at his touch, looking up to see Hunk just inches away from his face, just as startled as he feels, but this close, Keith can see the faint freckles over his nose that he hasn’t seen before, his lower lashes and how thick they are. Hunk’s hand feels like he’s holding his whole side, wrapped around front to back and pressing in just a little in fear that Keith was going to fall backwards, staring right back. A beat later Hunks hand retracts, held away from him in a different fear, cheeks coloring darker. 

“Sorry…,” Hunk says softly, eyes flicking over Keith’s face too, and he wonders in the back of his mind what he’s looking at, what he’s looking for. If he notices the scar in Keith’s brow he got when he was 8, or the blemish on his chin that sprung two days ago, the faded line crossing over his right cheek. Keith’s breath stills in his chest, held captive when he looks at Hunk’s mouth, one he kissed only 48 hours ago. It feels like such a long time yet not long at all. 

“It’s okay,” Keith wheezes out, his hands falling onto Hunk’s shoulders, over his neat dark blue flannel-patterned button up. “I don’t mind.” 

“You sure?” Hunk asks, caution rife in his eyes, though he seems to understand exactly what Keith means, staying still and solid. 

“Yeah,” Keith breathes out and raises up to kiss him, but Hunk leans so he doesn’t have to reach far, both hands falling to Keith’s waist, touch barely there but Keith burns, sings from deep in his chest. 

The book search is entirely forgotten when Hunk pulls Keith in front of him, leaning against the stacks, and the time seems to be forgotten too, something about the library making it drag by. Keith presses kisses over Hunk’s plush mouth, feeling the way he kisses him back just a hair slower, smiling into it and making Keith’s knees turn to jelly. Hunk changes the angle and Keith swallows down a noise, bending an arm around his neck and tilting his weight into him, feeling the give of his front and the hard muscle underneath. Hunk’s hands stay where they are for awhile, slowly inching underneath Keith’s backpack over his sweatshirt, up between his shoulders; neutral zones. Careful, never intrusive, never pressing. It’s a bit aggravating but lovely and sweet at once.

Hunk makes the smallest hum when Keith’s tongue not-so-accidentally grazes his lower lip, not asking or demanding for more, hardly toeing the line of heated, but it’s something different, experimental and wild. Keith’s stomach shudders at how low his voice sounds, rumbling and deep in his throat, and he can’t help but wonder how else he could make him sound. Before he can try, Hunk turns him and shadows him against the stack shelves, laughing against his mouth when their feet get tangled up. 

“You good?” Hunk whispers, lips brushing Keith’s, one of his hands coming out to hold the edge of a shelf. Keith cracks his eyes open and sees Hunk’s eyes crinkling on the edges, the flecks of gold in his dark brown irises, shimmering and looking back at him. 

“Real good,” Keith replies before lifting his chin again for another kiss, and another, fingers playing at the wispy ends of Hunk’s hair that curl against his nape. 

“You are good at this,” Hunk says moments later, dropping a sweet peck to his pursed mouth, his nose skating over Keith’s cheek as he drops another one, longer this time. 

Keith hums a smug laugh, small and quiet, but Hunk pushes his mouth open just a little and takes his lower lip between his and he’s inhaling sharply, warmth pooling between his hips. Little does Hunk know that Keith _loves_ that, loves the tingling pressure, but he supposes he just found out. Rather than take advantage, Hunk just smiles and kisses him again, long and full-mouthed, sliding thier wet lips together so easily, so gently. 

There’s rustling off to their right some minutes later down the aisle, and Hunk pops off to look, angling his body to cover Keith. Luckily the coast is clear and nobody else was around, leaving them still in their bubble of buzzing lights and old dusty physics books. 

“Phew,” Hunk says with a lopsided grin, thumb pressing into the curve of Keith’s shoulder blade. He looks back to him and wow, when did Hunk’s eyes go all hooded like that? Is he enjoying this too? Either way Keith’s pretty sure his heart has stalled any functions whatsoever. 

“C’mere,” Keith says, tugging on his collar a little but Hunk doesn’t budge. 

“We still gotta find your book,” he murmurs, just to be a shit, and drags his hand to hold his waist again, palms warm and pressing into his sweatshirt. 

“Don’t care,” Keith argues, voice gritty and hushed. “Kiss me.” 

“If you insist,” Hunk replies loftily, only to swoop down and kiss him where they left off. 

It’s probably a half hour for how long they make out in the stacks, until Keith’s feet protest the thinly carpeted floors and the crick in his neck makes itself apparent, lips getting numb. Still, he doesn't want it to stop, doesn’t want to part away from Hunk so soon because then he has to go to bowling and that’s just a mood killer. Then again, the longer they mack on each other the more the wetness between Keith’s legs grows and he’d rather not make something of it. Hunk seems to be on the same wavelength as him because he starts drawing away more often, muttering side comments about the dumb books by Keith’s head, making him laugh unexpectedly between the soft pecks on his mouth. 

“Oh, hey,” Hunk says, reaching to the left a few books over. “Found your book. How convenient.” 

Keith chuckles incredulously and takes it from him when Hunk stands up straight, stepping back an inch. “Thanks. That was really convenient.” 

“Who knew that we just had to kiss to find it. Magical,” Hunk says and something about his soft tone makes Keith flush up to his hair roots, eyes widening. “Incredible. Dazzling. Gorgeous. I’m talking about you, Keith, not the book. Sorry, that was totally waylaid, but yeah. Super awesome. Just. Really cool.” 

Hunk’s talking and Keith’s still processing that he called him gorgeous, the book nearly slipping from his fingers and he has to resist the urge to kiss him again lest his lungs collapse from lack of oxygen. “Oh. Thanks… too. You. You too.” 

Hunk’s grin inches across his face and Keith mirrors him, joy and sparkles bubbling in his chest after all that kissing, and they both burst into laughter at the same time. It’s unreal that the both of them could be so awkward and stilted with their words, but it’s not as terrible as it seems, more reassuring and comforting than anything else. 

“You’re a dork,” Hunk says once his laughter dies down, Keith rolling his eyes fondly before Hunk reaches out and tucks his hair behind his ear, big fingers still so nimble and gentle. Keith distantly wonders if that’s something Hunk likes to do, tucking hair behind people’s ears who he just thoroughly kissed, or about to kiss. He wonders if it’s another Hunk Thing. He wonders how many other Hunk Things he has to figure out. 

“Well… you’re a nerd,” Keith argues back lamely but it doesn’t quite stick, making Hunk snort out. Keith taps his book to Hunk’s chest before sliding out between him and the stacks, starting to make his way down the aisle to check out. Hunk bounces into stride next to him, a perpetual dreamy grin on his face that really makes Keith feel more flattered than he looks. 

Just before walking out of the safety of the stacks, Hunk wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulls him sideways to plant a kiss on top of his head, squeezing his arm affectionately. “Good thing I happen to like dorks, though,” Hunk murmurs before letting his arm drop. 

Keith concentrates very hard on the ugly brown carpet underneath his boots, throat closing up for a moment. “Geez, you really are Lance’s roommate,” he huffs out, glancing at Hunk through the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching up in a soft smirk. 

Hunk wiggles his brows and winks at him. “He learned from me.” 

Keith outright scoffs. “That’s a lie! That’s such a lie,” he cackles. 

“Okay, you’re right. He’s much worse than me, though. Good thing Allura likes his charm well enough,” Hunk laughs affably, a little red in the cheeks. “Amazing how she does.” 

“True facts,” Keith agrees under his breath, taking the steps down to the first floor slowly. Thinking about Lance and Allura has him remembering Friday only two days away. “So… uhm,” he clears his throat and taps his book against his leg, anticipation building. “What are we doing Friday again?”

Hunk perks up next to him, eyes widening for a moment as he almost misses the next step. “Lance, uh, got a new deck for Cards Against Humanity, so probably that. I have some food and drinks to make, too, and Matt’s gonna be there, too, I think. Pidge has Mario Kart,” he shrugs, one hand in his pocket and the other holding the railing. 

Keith nods acceptably, wondering what it’d be like to have the whole squad rolling up now that he made the connection with Hunk and Lance rooming together. He wonders what their apartment’s like, if maybe Hunk will let him look at his posters he’s bragged about once. “You wanna explain the champagne question though?” he smirks, a little self-satisfied, stopping at the bottom of the stairwell.

Hunk guffaws after a beat of stunned silence, scuffing his shoe into the linoleum in the stairwell. “There was no reason to that, I was nervous.”

“I was nervous!” Keith blurts with a disbelieving grin, brows raising up his forehead. After all that, Hunk’s question that had made Keith lay awake at night was totally empty? Unbelievable. “You were about to kiss me, and—”

“I did kiss you! Later! Well, you started it, technically.”

“Well--well yeah! You were just… so smart and hot talking about the Garrison’s satellites. Don’t pretend like that wasn’t a totally dumb question,” Keith says before he can stop himself, flushing up to his ears and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks very pointedly at the weird inspirational poster hanging in the stairwell next to the door, wanting to see the look on Hunk’s face but also reluctant. 

Hunk makes a noise on the fringes of surprised but pleased, lifting a hand to tap his chin, standing barely a foot away from Keith, hip cocked and relaxed. “I can talk about satellites more? I can even talk about _rovers_.” 

“Oh my god,” Keith huffs, but seeing Hunk like this is doing strange things to his stomach, all sorts of spinny goofy shit. It’s also… still kinda hot. In a weird way he didn’t think he’d like. Guys who are all up in their own heads typically bother him, but Hunk’s different. Keith knows for a fact he’s just being dramatic, but he definitely likes it. Maybe some other time he could see how far he could push him, since the thought is undeniably intriguing. But he won’t let that on to Hunk.

“I’m just messing with you, Keith,” Hunk grins slyly, gently nudging Keith’s shoulder. Keith hates how gorgeous and smarmy he looks when he does it, though, having a niggling thought that Hunk’s still doing this on purpose. 

“I’m going to trip you,” he threatens half-heartedly, glaring as hard as he can at him, which isn’t much. “Don’t push it.” 

Hunk lets it go, patting Keith’s back good-naturedly. “Alright, alright, I promise to not flirt with you too much when we’re in the library.” 

That earns Hunk a wicked look, though Keith couldn’t play off his flushed cheeks if he tried. “You call that flirting? You were doing better before.”

“I was? Nice,” Hunk hums consideringly, and he’s miraculously quiet while Keith pulls out his student ID to check out the book. As soon as Keith gets the receipt with the return date Hunk’s chatting again. “So like, when we were in the stacks? That was good, right?”

As they walk out of the library to the cool five o’clock evening air, Keith raises his brow, Hunk’s flirty yet concerned tone making him think twice about a snarky remark. He still has his crooked smile on but his eyes are soft, searching, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans, brushing elbows with Keith. He looks a little vulnerable and it makes Keith’s heart titter, reaching out to hook a finger in Hunk’s belt loop. He’d pull Hunk’s hand out of his pocket to hold but that seems like too much, too soon, and there’s still other students milling about campus. 

“Yeah, it was good,” he says quietly, looking up at him and then down at the concrete, subtly pulling him toward the rec center. Hunk seems content with that, letting Keith guide him down the winding sidewalks in happy silence. 

Then Hunk seems to remember where Keith’s taking him, wrapping his hand around his wrist loosely. “Wait, don’t you have bowling?” 

“Yeah. You wanna come? People join in all the time even though it’s technically a class,” Keith says smoothly, glad to see Hunk’s surprise flit across his face. “Unless you have homework to do.” 

“No! No, I have—I have nothing going on. Nothing at all. Just… you want to bowl? With me?” Hunk sputters, dropping Keith’s wrist, and after all his showing off and cockiness and flirting, he’s still shy. He’s still bashful, amazed and bewildered at Keith’s offer of wanting to spend just a little bit more time with him. It was easy for Keith to ask, but it’s even easier to assure him, knowing he’d want to hear the same. 

“Of course I do,” he says softly, putting a hand on Hunk’s bicep. “I like hanging out with you.” 

Hunk’s worried expression changes on a flip of a dime, his smile crawling across his face, and the setting sun holds no candle to how breathtaking he looks, eyes just for Keith. “I like hanging out with you, too,” he says like it’s a quiet revelation, and his fingers twitch at his sides before he wraps Keith up in a hug that’s neither tight nor loose. Keith’s the perfect height for Hunk to press his cheek into the top of his hair, and Keith buries his nose into his collar for a moment, absorbing the sudden intimacy for what it’s worth before stepping back. 

“I am gonna get my butt whooped by you, though,” Hunk says with a chuckle, and when Keith turns to keep walking Hunk lets his arm hang around his shoulders for a few moments longer, like he didn’t want to remove it so soon. Keith’s heart does a helpless little twirl at that. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you,” Keith says a bit boastfully, teasingly. 

Hunk makes a face like he’s hard pressed. “I don’t know… my highest score _was_ 100 the last time I played.” Keith grins delightedly, bumping his shoulder into Hunk’s. 

Hunk only beat Keith by 5 points in the very end play bracket after Keith was leading the majority of the game, and the look of shock on his face prompted Hunk to sweep him into a brief but very tight hug that squeezed the air out of his lungs. Once they were out in the safety of the barren rec halls, Keith congratulated him with kiss behind the water fountains. And kissed him again before they went their separate ways. Then Hunk kissed him before he could walk away too far. 

Keith walked home with a tingle to his lips and a bounce in his step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the long wait on the update, as i said on my tumblr writing (and tbh doing creative things in general) has been really slow going! Such is life. But i’m definitely going to keep with this, there’s still a story to be told!! Thank you so much for your patience and support, it really drives me and keeps me going :’D


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 1/3 of "The Hang Out"

Friday’s are usually low-key for Keith. He has one class, one lab, and then he can basically go home or go straight to the coffeeshop for a short and easy shift. But, of course, today was the Hang Out day and he woke up in a sweat twenty minutes before his alarm went off, so a good annoying start. He rifled through his closet for his favorite outfit, asking both Shiro and Allura for advice, and his fingers jumped over his cracked phone screen every time he replied to Hunk’s texts. 

It’s fine. It’s gonna be chill. Keith’s fine. 

Except when he gets to lab and sees Lance’s barely-contained grin, he’s ready to burst out of his skull. 

“So, hotshot,” Lance leers with a raised brow, putting his chin in a palm. “Lookin’ good.” 

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith growls as he slides into the seat next to him. This only prompts Lance to giggle and nudge his shoulder. Keith swats his hand away before he can do it again. 

“God, you’re so high-strung. You know you can breathe, right? Like, I’m pretty sure Hunk would prefer that,” Lance says, pulling his manual out of his backpack. “He _would_ prefer that color on you, though. Can’t believe you didn’t ask me instead, I’m his best friend! I have special Hunk knowledge to enlighten you with.” 

Keith pauses in his grumbling search for his own manual, silently dropping it onto the counter with a curious and narrowed look. But, he supposes he shouldn’t ask questions he already knows the answer to. “Did Allura tell you?” he asks in a flat, unimpressed tone, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Lance flops his hand around in a noncommittal gesture, humming before tapping a finger to his temple. “I more or less looked over her shoulder. More of a breach of her privacy, not yours, but I can see why you’re looking at me like that. But my point still stands: Hunk. Knowledge.” 

Keith rolls his eyes, looking up to the whiteboard at the front of the lab room for their tasks to complete for the day. Their professor hasn’t even arrived yet but half the class is here, passing around the attendance sheet. Keith takes it when another student passes it over, scribbling out his name and shoving it in Lance’s direction. 

Lance guffaws and writes out his name, passes it to the next table. “Also that henley? God bless Allura.” 

Keith grumbles and readjusts his grey henley self-consciously now that Lance pointed it out. “It was my first choice, anyway,” he says with no small amount of surliness. 

“Sure it was,” Lance concedes sarcastically with a shrug. “But, I would’ve gone with a different flannel.” 

Keith furrows his brows at him. “It’s a good flannel! I like the colors.”

“Yeah, and Hunk’s already seen you wear it!” Lance counters, looking him over and deciding not to argue his point further, smiling crookedly at him as he leans back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. “It works for you, though. Really works, if Hunk’s yapping about you in flannels is anything go by.”

All of Keith’s protests die on his tongue, cheeks flushing just a bit. Only a little. But he’s gotten pretty good at pretending he’s unaffected with Lance’s laser-sharp jibes. “Yeah, I’m sure he remembers all my flannels. Also, why do you have to make this about Hunk and I? It’s none of your business,” Keith grates, definitely a bit hypocritically. He remembers each of Hunk’s collared shirts, but mostly the one with cats on it. He has one with pineapples, too, that really caught the gold in his eyes. He swallows thickly to ignore that thought. “It’s just a party.”

Lance chuckles and rubs his hands together, clearly ignoring Keith’s warning. “Oh, damn, Keith, you don’t even know the half of it. I got sick of him talking about you, honestly, because like? It takes him fifteen minutes to get dressed in the morning, and he’s always asking me what kind of food you like, what books you read, and how am I supposed to know? You don’t read books and you have the worst taste in food,” Lance huffs out haughtily, shaking his head and generally acting like it’s _such a trouble_ but his eyes are bright, his smile is ever-present, and Keith gets a feeling he’s doing it on purpose. “I mean, I don’t want to step all over your guys’ business, but… Hunk’s really annoying about you.” 

Keith would laugh if he wasn’t suddenly blindsided. “Oh,” he murmurs with zero inflection, mouth in a hard line as he absorbs Lance’s bluntness, furrowing his brows. “Sorry not sorry. I think.” 

Lance swings his head around to look at him, and after a moment he bursts out laughing, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder and jostling him. “It’s okay, dude. It’s kind of nice. The last girl he was with he didn’t get like this over. Or anyone, really, since high school. Which was, like, so long ago,” he says, and hurriedly continues, the hand on his shoulder flying off to swerve around in the air. “So, it’s no problem. I’m glad, I’m really glad, even if he is a drama queen. The recipe books he’s read? Insane. I can’t stand to look at them anymore. All alphabetized and everything.” 

Keith just glares at Lance as he backpedals and backpedals until his legs fall off and his mouth just keeps going like he was expecting Keith to be offended at his slip-up, if it could be called that. “Okay, Lance, I get it. It’s fine. Can we get to lab now?” he grits out with some heat, reaching for the computer mouse and starting up the simulation program. 

“Lab? Yeah, totally, we’re absolutely going to do lab. We’re gonna do it so well, just—mess it up. Get it done. We got this,” he chuckles nervously, looking like he’s missed a bullet. He lets out a pent up breath of air in a whoosh and falls back in his chair. After a few moments of blessed silence, Lance asks, “So. You excited?”

Keith just turns his head to glare at him and Lance’s shoulders rise up to his ears. “Just wondering! You should be, is all. You _better_ be.” He leans forward abruptly to raise a pointed brow in his direction, eyes steely and defensive. 

“I am, thanks. Are you gonna go and tell him that, too?” Keith bites back, beginning their simulation parameters. 

“No! That’s your business. I’m just… here for my dude. My dudes. My dude Hunk and… and you, too, I guess,” Lance tacks on awkwardly, spinning his pen between his fingers and around his thumb absently, aloof and casual even with his cheeks a bit redder. Keith’s eyes roll so far around he’s probably giving himself an extra headache. 

“Thanks,” he replies flatly, but can't stop the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

As the time gets closer to 4, Keith’s getting visibly more antsy, looking at his phone and the clock on the wall, but he powers through the lab with Lance. He doesn’t pester him much further, thankfully, but Keith knows he can tell the approaching time since Keith’s foot just won’t stop bouncing. 

“Okay, dude, you seriously need to chill out,” Lance complains when Keith writes down the readings wrong and almost erases a hole into the paper. “We have fifteen minutes. Can you hold it together for fifteen minutes?”

“I am completely held together,” Keith growls, filtering through the graphs and observing the numbers with a deeply knitted brow, until all the numericals start blending together and looking like gibberish. He’s concentrating so hard. So much concentration. 

Lance just scoffs, leaning sideways into his chair armrest. “It’s gonna be super fun, I promise. Hunk’s always got the good booze, Allura the beautiful ambiance, and Pidge and Matt are the wild cards,” he ponders, tone smooth and airy. “Honestly, I can’t believe you haven’t showed up before. I only asked like a million times. You recluse. You should bring Hobbs over.” 

“I’m riding with you and Allura,” Keith reminds him, taking a steadying breath. This is why he doesn’t do _things_. And now doing _things_ with his hardcore crush in attendance? He’s asking for the black sheep label. “Also he’s an asshole.”

“Hobbs is not,” Lance objects with a raspberry noise, clicking his pen repeatedly. Keith would comment on his sudden demotivation when he was just bugging Keith about it, but he decides he could do with a few less gray hairs. 

“You wanna skip out of here early?” Lance suggests a minute later, touching the screen to move their advancing prototype around, looking much cooler than it did last week with the exception of the cheap Photoshopped flames going up the side—all Lance’s insistence. Keith thinks it looks stupid but also it brings some joy into lab he otherwise wouldn’t have. 

“We have fifteen minutes,” he repeats back, but he can’t deny the brainflow was waning. Even his notes don’t make sense. Lance just laughs. 

Well, to absolutely no surprise, Lance is a really good bullshitter. He shows Keith some vines that he had saved on Youtube on his phone, going off on the latest movies and celebrity drama that only he and Allura were interested in, showing him some Twitter threads to corroborate. Keith doesn’t complain one bit, and close to the end of lab he’s feeling significantly more lax, even explaining to Lance some of the dynamics of DnD player sheets, which he’s glad Lance finds some interest in. Keith’s been dying to run through a campaign as a Dungeon Master for seventy years but never found anyone to play except Pidge. Lance insists that Hunk would definitely be interested if he ever got around to asking him.

“All of you. Such nerds,” Lance gripes half-heartedly as he shoves his lab manual into his bag. 

Keith tsks and shakes his head, doing the same with his own materials. “Says the one with a million mangas in his closet.” 

Lance has the gall to look scandalized, a hand even coming up to clutch at his shirt, making Keith grin with complete self-satisfaction. “Okay, too far! You _know_ some of those are Veronicas! And it’s not a million! I’m only the humble caretaker of those ancient tomes, you bastard.” 

Keith just rolls his eyes and pushes his chair into Lance’s path to mess with him. 

They find Allura in the common area with all the glass tiles, reading a textbook and looking like she was going to burn it with sheer will alone. Lance runs up to her and plants a heavy kiss on her forehead, hopping up into her lap right on top of the book, and instantly her grimace is gone, breaking out into loud rippling laughter. 

“Lance! What’s going on?” she says as he wraps his arms around her tightly, one of her arms pinned by his backpack but Allura’s other arm comes up to guide Lance’s face away from hers, cheeks flushed pink. 

“I missed you so longingly, my love,” Lance replies back in a lilting accent to match hers. “Also you just looked so mad reading that stupid book, I had to save you.”

“Well isn’t that just sweet of you,” Allura responds in a higher, flowery tone, shoving Lance’s long legs off her lap. “Hey, Keith. Did Lance save you, too?” she asks with a humorous curl to her mauve-painted lips. Lance takes the hint and slides off to stand on his own feet though not without helping Allura do the same. So gentlemanly. Keith would poke fun if it wasn’t actually adorable. 

Lance just sneers and sticks his tongue out at Allura’s suggestion. “Ugh, Allura. Gross.” 

“No way,” Keith replies in kind, shoving his hands deep into his jean pockets. 

Allura just giggles delightedly. “Are we ready for a good time, then, boys?” she says as she reaches forward and curls an arm around Keith’s shoulders, the other pulling Lance into her side. 

“Hell yeah, babe!” Lance crows, pumping his fist. “We’re gonna get Keith so sloshed he won’t even remember when he does karaoke.” 

Despite himself, Keith finds his mouth forming a lopsided grin. “Yeah, right,” he dismisses. 

“Oh, come now, Keith. You _love_ Mr. Brightside,” Allura insists like she’s seen Keith belt it out on a bar stage or something. She jostles his shoulder for fun even though he adamantly shakes his head.

“No way, Allura, his go-to jam is Dancing Queen, duh,” Lance contends, leaning forward to wiggle his eyebrows at Keith as they walk down the corridor. 

Keith bursts out a quick laugh at the absurdity. “I prefer Mr. Brightside. _Yours_ is Dancing Queen.” 

After a moment of Lance pouting, ready to object, Allura adds, “He’s got you there, darling. I’ve seen it,” she grimaces, giving Lance’s hair a pitying pat.

Lance concedes but not without taking one of Allura’s braids and poking her cheek with it. “Okay, that was one time. And I had, like, eight mojitos, so. Which you bought, my sweeting,” he puckers his lips. “But really, no frickin’ karaoke. We can’t have another noise complaint.” 

“Oh, god, that’s right,” Allura adds, dropping her arms from Lance and Keith’s shoulders to push open the door. “You and Hunk were the root of that.” 

“True facts,” Lance nudges Keith’s shoulder with a loose fist. “Too much Skyrim.” 

“Makes sense,” Keith says, following the two of them out the door into the warm early evening air, walking in contented silence toward wherever Lance’s car is parked. 

Lance pulls out his phone and even from over his shoulder Keith can see that it’s lit up with messages. “Also, totally forgot, there’s a tidbit I didn’t mention earlier about your big ol’ crush blowing up my phone asking what kind of fruit you like, Keith, because he’s totally doing that, so you wanna do a guy a favor and tell me if you prefer kiwis or mangoes?” 

Keith lets out a sigh and shoves Lance aside, swearing he’s losing years off his life. Lance corrects his balance after swerving three chuckling steps, only to pull out his phone and wave it in Keith’s face. “Fine, mangoes! I like mangoes,” he practically hollers at him but Lance takes it good-naturedly, tapping away on his phone. 

“I also told him you said hello. Because that’s cute,” Lance snickers, unlocking his shitty Honda ten paces away. 

“Ugh,” Keith groans, but Lance’s nosiness reminds him to look at his phone from when it was buzzing in his pocket earlier. 

**Hunk ☼ [Today 4:34 PM]:**  
Hope you like lemonade B) 

Underneath is a picture of a huge pitcher full of tangy yellow lemonade, and Keith can see chunks of lemon through the opaque plastic. Homemade, or at least mostly so. He quickly types back a response using a dozen eye and thumb-up emojis before sliding into the backseat of Lance’s car. 

Allura bumps surprisingly decent British pop on their way to the apartment, and Keith unrolls his window to let the cool air wash over his skin. Lance bobs his head and laughs when Allura sings along, looking at his girlfriend fondly when she misses some words on the chorus. Keith smiles to himself at Allura’s rebuttal by getting into Lance’s face to sing the next lyrics. They’re good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh that good allurance :'D s8 did everyone so dirty. 
> 
> i apologize again for the long update wait :''0 the end of 2018 was a wild ride dealing w personal things and getting my whole tumblr account deleted, to which you can reach me @s_peachxv on twitter!! i'm on my usual hunk-lovin' business there :) 
> 
> thank you SO MUCH if you're around to read this!!! it means everything to me to have your support. thank you <33 
> 
> I'll actually be posting the next few chapters soon bc they segue right into each other... there wasn't exactly a good place to stop without making one long 20k chapter :'D

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on tumblr @space-peachx! I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments! :> Feel free to message me as well. Thanks so much for reading!!


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